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How  Count  L.  N.  Tolstoy 
Lives  and  Works 


COUNT  AND   COUNTESS  TOLSTOY 
SEPTEMBER,  1895 


How  Count  L.  N.  Tolstoy 
Lives  and  Works 


By 
P.  A.  SERGYEENKO 


Translated  from  the  Russian^ 

By 
ISABEL    F.    HAPGOOD 


NEW   YORK 

THOMAS   Y.    CROWELL   &    CO. 
PUBLISHERS 


COPYRIGHT,  1899, 
BY  THOMAS  Y.  CROWELL  &  CO. 


tra 


••£.{:/:  f  < 

MM  24 1910 


HOW  COUNT  TOLSTOY  LIVES 
AND    WORKS 

CHAPTER   I 

ABOUT  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  in  the  win- 
ter of  1892,  I  was  sitting  with  my  friends  the 
A.'s,  who  had  arrived  in  Moscow  on  the  previous  eve- 
ning from  their  estate  in  the  south.  Several  other  guests 
besides  myself  were  seated  at  the  tea  table  engaged  in  a 
lively  conversation  about  one  of  Lyeff  Tolstoy's  latest 
works. 

Out  of  doors  a  fine  snow  was  falling  and  in  the  room 
the  twilight  was  gathering. 

Just  as  the  discussion  had  reached  its  height,  a  gaunt 
old  man,  of  medium  stature  and  with  the  typical  face  of 
the  Russian  peasant,  entered  the  room.  He  wore  a  short, 
sheepskin  coat  and  tall  felt  boots.  As  he  entered  he 
said,  "Good-afternoon,"  removed  his  felt  cap,  and  be- 
gan to  unwind  from  his  throat  a  woolen  scarf. 

From  the  table  where  we  sat,  we  could  not  see  the 
door  plainly,  and  the  A.'s  stared  with  curiosity  and 
surprise  at  the  newcomer. 

Suddenly  the  hostess's  face  beamed  with  delight,  and 
she  said,  in  a  drawling  voice :  — 

"  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  !  how  do  you  do  ?  " 

All  rose  to  their  feet. 

It  was  Count  L.  N.  Tolstoy.  He  untied  his  scarf, 
and,  with  a  brisk,  youthful  movement,  threw  off  his 
fur  coat,  casting  sharp  glances  about  as  he  did  so  in 
search  of  a  place  to  lay  it. 

I  beheld  L.  N.  Tolstoy  for  the  first  time,  and,  invol- 
untarily, riveted  my  eyes  upon  him.  He  was  clad  in 


2         HOW   COUNT   L.  N.  TOLSTOY 

a  dark  gray  flannel  blouse  with  a  wide,  turn-down  col- 
lar, displaying  his  sinewy  neck  at  the  curves  of  the 
head.  He  was  breathing  rather  fast  from  his  walk  in 
the  cold  air,  and  his  gray  hair  lay  in  damp,  tumbled 
locks  upon  his  temples.  He  had  an  alert,  wide-awake 
air,  held  himself  upright,  and  moved  with  quick,  short 
steps,  hardly  bending  his  knees,  which  suggested  the 
motion  of  a  man  sliding  upon  ice.  He  appeared  neither 
older  nor  younger  than  his  age  —  he  was  then  sixty-four 
—  and  produced  the  impression  of  a  well-preserved,  en- 
ergetic peasant.  And  his  face,  also,  was  a  true  peasant's 
face :  simple,  rustic,  with  a  broad  nose,  a  weather-beaten 
skin,  and  thick,  overhanging  brows,  from  beneath  which 
small,  keen,  gray  eyes  peered  sharply  forth. 

But  the  expression  of  his  eyes  was  unusual,  and  in- 
voluntarily attracted  attention.  In  them  seemed  to  be 
concentrated  all  the  vivid  tokens  of  Tolstoy's  person- 
ality; and  he  who  has  not  seen  those  eyes  flash  and 
blaze,  who  has  not  seen  them  suddenly  acquire  a  sort 
of  boring  and  penetrating  character,  cannot  possess  a 
full  conception  of  L.  N.  Tolstoy's  external  appearance. 

Although  the  majority  of  his  portraits  reproduce  his 
external  features  with  considerable  success,  so  that 
L.  N.  Tolstoy  may  instantly  be  recognized  from  them, 
yet  not  one  of  them  gives  a  clear  idea  of  the  core  of  his 
personality,  not  one  transmits  those  fountains  of  light 
hidden  in  the  man,  which,  when  they  are  reflected  upon 
his  countenance  at  certain  moments,  illuminate  it  with 
the  gleam  of  the  inner  life.  This  defect  in  the  p6rtraits 
of  L.  N.  Tolstoy  must  be  charged,  in  part,  to  his  account. 
Because  of  the  qualities  of  his  vivacious,  impatient  na- 
ture, he  presents  a  difficult  subject  for  the  artist.  The 
artist  must  carry  in  himself  a  certain  engraved  expres- 
sion, and  never  seek  it  again  at  the  time  of  actual 
work. 

After  he  had  hung  up  his  fur  coat,  L.  N.  Tolstoy 
approached  us  and  began  to  exchange  greetings.  In 
spite  of  his  modest  attire,  one  instantly  divines  in  Lyeff 
Nikolaevitch  a  man  of  the  highest  society,  —  well-bred, 
with  polished,  unconstrained  manners. 


LIVES  AND   WORKS  j 

We  were  introduced  to  each  other. 

L.  N.  Tolstoy  bent  down  slightly,  as  though  trying 
to  scrutinize  my  face,  and  said  courteously  :  — 

"  Pray  excuse  me  for  not  having  written  to  you  in 
regard  to  your  article  which  you  sent  to  me." 

Several  months  previously  I  had  sent  to  L.  N.  Tol- 
stoy my  article  about  a  certain  priest,  who  was  extermi- 
nating drunkenness  among  the  masses  by  his  sermons. 

In  this  connection  I  had  written  to  L.  N.  Tolstoy  a 
few  lines  about  the  sympathetic  personality  of  the  priest. 
I  was  pleasantly  surprised  that,  amid  his  extensive  occu- 
pations, he  had  forgotten  neither  my  modest  work  nor 
my  name,  and  I  said :  — 

"You  probably  had  your  reasons  for  so  doing." 

"Yes,  yes,  you  are  right,"  he  replied,  seating  himself 
and  pointing  me  to  a  place  beside  him.  "  There  is  a 
very  great  deal  to  say  on  the  subject  with  which  you  \v 
dealt  in  your  article.  I  had  no  leisure  at  the  time,  and  \^ 
I  made  up  my  mind  that  when  I  came  to  Moscow  I  %^ 
would  manage  to  call  upon  you  and  talk  it  over."  ^^ 

And,  picking  up  a  pencil  which  was  lying  on  the  table 
and  swiftly  twirling  it  about  in  his  fingers,  Lyeff  Niko- 
laevitch  began  to  talk  about  the  thing  which  then  inter-  &^. 
ested  me  most.  He  talked  without  constraint,  cleverly  yjp 
and  picturesquely,  in  the  same  richly  colored  language 
in  which  he  writes,  easily  reasoning  and  easily  discuss- 
ing the  most  complicated  situations.  It  was  difficult 
to  answer  him.  He  seemed  to  have  at  his  disposal  a 
whole  arsenal  of  the  clearest,  boldest,  most  original,  and 
utterly  unexpected  arguments,  with  pertinent  compari- 
sons and  humorous  interpolations,  which  evoked  invol- 
untary laughter.  Yet,  nevertheless,  I  could  not  in  the 
least  agree  with  some  of  his  positions,  and  I  tried  to 
reply.  He  refuted  my  objections  on  the  instant,  with- 
out ceasing  to  twirl  the  pencil,  and  hastily  brought  for- 
ward his  own  ideas,  which  breathed  forth  ingenuity, 
power,  and  passion.  The  conversation  at  last  became 
general  and  turned  upon  other  themes. 

The  corridor  servant  brought  the  bubbling  samovar. 
Madame  A.  offered  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  tea,  but  he  cat- 


4        HOW   COUNT   L.  N.  TOLSTOY 

egorically  refused  it,  and  cast  a  hostile  glance  at  the 
battery  of  preserve  jars  which  stood  on  the  table ;  then 
he  turned  his  gaze  to  the  good-natured  face  of  the 
hostess,  and  his  stern  features  softened.  He  began,  in  a 
friendly  tone,  to  talk  to  her  about  her  work  in  wool 
(she  had  been  engaged  in  preparing  yarn  during  the 
conversation),  and  about  the  vegetarian  kitchen  which 
Madame  A.  was  planning  to  build  in  Moscow.  On  en- 
countering my  glance,  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  began  to  talk 
about  the  advantage  of  vegetable  food,  and  advised  me 
to  leave  off  eating  meat;  then  he  appealed  to  Mr.  A. 
concerning  some  new  influences  in  the  realm  of  law 
(A.  is  a  jurist-theorist,  absorbed  in  juridical  science), 
and  then,  gradually,  he  entered  into  conversation  with 
each  person  present  about  the  thing  which  most  inter- 
ested them,  evidently  fearing  that  he  might  omit  some 
one  or  other  from  his  attention. 

The  conversation  turned  upon  one  of  his  sons,  who,  at 
the  moment,  was  seeking  an  estate,  for  purchase. 

"  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch,  tell  your  son  that  when  he  has 
decided  upon  any  estate,  he  is  to  apply  to  me.  I  will 
give  him  some  indispensable  hints,  otherwise  he  may 
commit  follies." 

Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

44  Why  prevent  him  ?  The  more  follies  he  commits, 
the  better  it  will  be  for  him." 

I  did  not  understand  the  sense  of  these  words,  and 
asked,  "  Why  will  it  be  the  better  for  him  ?  " 

"  Because  the  sooner  he  sets  his  teeth  on  edge  with 
estates,  and  at  last  convinces  himself,  from  his  personal 
experience,  that  nothing  good  will  come  from  this,  the 
quicker  will  he  attain  to  the  comprehension  of  the  fact 
that  the  only  person  for  whom  it  is  profitable  to  hold 
land  is  the  man  who  tills  it  himself." 

"  Very  good,  if  it  does  turn  out  so,"  I  remarked,  "  but 
failures  do  not  always  lead  us  to  the  truth.  Sometimes 
they  merely  enrage  a  man,  and  spoil  his  character." 

L.  N.  Tolstoy  darted  a  sharp  glance  from  beneath 
his  gray,  beetling  brows. 

"  My  son  is  not  in  that  path,"  he  ejaculated  abruptly. 


LIVES  AND  WORKS  5 

And  it  seemed  to  me  that  a  sort  of  shadow  came  be- 
tween us. 

Having  exhausted  the  subject  of  the  purchase  of  an 
estate,  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  laid  the  pencil  on  the  table, 
and  clasped  his  hands,  with  the  fingers  interlocking. 
His  overhanging  brows  drooped  still  lower,  and  his  face 
assumed  a  locked-up  expression.  The  conversation  evi- 
dently had  wearied  him,  and  he  only  listened  to  his 
interlocutor  out  of  politeness.  When  the  latter  had 
finished,  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  asked  the  hour,  and  rose. 

But  before  his  departure  a  characteristic  episode  took 
place.  In  the  course  of  conversation  with  one  of  the 
persons  present,  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  mentioned  Bertha 
Suttner's  famous  book,  Die  Waff  en  nieder !  and  said, 
"  Of  course  you  have  read  the  book  ?  " 

The  man  nodded  his  head  in  assent.  But  his  con- 
science must  have  tormented  him  for  telling  Lyeff  Ni- 
kolaevitch an  untruth,  and  he  stammered  out :  — 

"Lyeff  Nikolaevitch,  I  really  am  acquainted  with 
the  contents  of  that  book,  Away  with  Arms!  But  I 
have  not  yet  read  the  book  itself." 

L.  N.  Tolstoy  changed  the  subject,  and  began  to  take 
leave.  But  it  seemed  to  me  that  he  was  greatly  touched 
by  his  interlocutor's  confession,  and  that  he  fully  appre- 
ciated the  significance  of  the  conquest  over  himself 
which  the  man  had  made. 

Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  put  on  his  short  fur  coat,  hooked 
it  up  tightly,  and  putting  himself  to  rights  in  peasant 
fashion  —  with  a  movement  of  the  shoulders  —  he  began 
to  don  and  praise  the  mittens  of  goat's  wool  given  to 
him  by  Madame  A. ;  then  he  made  a  general  salute, 
and  left  the  room  with  accelerated  steps. 

He  was  in  haste  to  get  home  to  dinner,  and  he  had 
several  versts  to  traverse  before  he  reached  Weaver's 
Lane,  where  he  lives.  He  does  not  like  to  ride  in  cabs, 
and  has  recourse  to  them  only  in  exceptional  cases. 


HOW   COUNT   L.  N.  TOLSTOY 


CHAPTER  II 

A  WEEK  after  my  first  meeting  with  L.  N.  Tolstoy,  I 
availed  myself  of  his  invitation,  and  about  eight  o'clock 
in  the  evening  drove,  in  company  with  the  A.'s,  to  Dol- 
go-Khamovnitcheskiy  Pereulok  (Long-Weaver's  Lane), 
where  the  Tolstoys  live  in  winter.  They  occupy  a 
separate  two-story  wooden  house,  belonging  to  one  of 
Lyeff  Nikolaevitch's  sons,  Lyeff  Lvovitch. 

The  small,  isolated  two-story  house  to  which  we  drove 
up  was  situated  in  a  courtyard,  and  stood  out  as  a  dark 
mass  against  the  whitish  background  of  the  ancient  gar- 
den, sprinkled  with  hoar  frost.  The  outer  principal 
door,  and  the  second  door,  with  a  stiff  spring,  were  not 
fastened.  Through  ignorance  I  let  this  second  door 
go,  and  it  produced  a  deafening  bang,  which  brought 
out  a  courteous  lackey  in  dress-suit,  who  began  to  help 
us  off  with  our  outer  wraps. 

The  A.'s  were,  in  part,  acquainted  with  the  ways  of 
the  house  at  the  Tolstoys',  and  thought  that  no  one  but 
ourselves  would  be  there  that  evening. 

But  in  the  anteroom,  on  the  cloak-rack,  there  were 
many  outer  garments,  and  to  the  right,  upon  the  wall- 
chests  and  the  pier-tables,  lay  a  motley  collection  of  all 
sorts  of  caps,  fur  caps  and  uniform  caps.  The  servant 
softly  inquired  of  us,  Whom  were  we  come  to  visit,  the 
Count  or  the  Countess  ? 

The  A.'s  said  that  we  had  come  to  see  the  Count 
The  servant  announced  us,  and,  a  moment  later,  returned 
with  an  invitation  from  the  Count. 

On  the  landing  of  the  broad  staircase,  with  one  turn,  one 
of  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch's  daughters  met  us.  She  greeted 
us  unconstrainedly,  like  intimate  friends,  and  conducted 
us  through  the  large  hall  where  sat  several  ladies  and 
gentlemen.  From  the  hall  we  entered  a  narrow  corri- 


dor,  descended  several  steps,  and  found  ourselves  in  a 
small,  low-studded  room,  with  an  iron  pipe  extending 
across  it  close  to  the  ceiling.  This  arrangement  of  the 
pipe  is  due  to  one  of  L.  N.  Tolstoy's  acquaintances ;  its 
peculiarity  consists  in  the  fact  that,  with  the  aid  of  a 
lamp,  it  ventilates  and,  in  part,  heats  the  working  cabi- 
net capitally. 

Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  was  sitting  at  a  small  writing- 
table,  with  his  foot  tucked  up  under  him,  engaged  in 
writing  something  by  the  light  of  a  candle.  At  our  ap- 
pearance he  rose,  and  began  to  exchange  courteous 
greeting,  sometimes  raising  his  hand  on  high,  and  low- 
ering it  again  with  a  gentle  movement ;  then  he  gave  us 
seats,  and  began  to  talk  about  the  book  which  lay  open 
before  him,  and  which  he  was  reading  after  dinner.  It  was 
a  new  French  book  on  social  questions.  Its  style  pleased 
him,  as  did  some  individual  ideas  in  it,  but,  on  the  whole, 
he  did  not  find  it  satisfactory,  and  he  began  to  explain 
precisely  why  it  did  not  satisfy  him. 

The  solitary  candle  left  the  study  rather  dark,  and 
the  corners  were  submerged  in  gloom.  I  involuntarily 
cast  a  glance  around  the  room,  where  so  many  immortal 
images  had  had  their  birth  and  been  created. 

It  was  a  small,  almost  square  chamber  wholly  without 
decorations,  with  a  low  ceiling  and  broad  windows, 
which  looked  out  on  the  garden.  Beside  one  window 
stood  a  small,  plain  table  covered  with  papers,  and  a 
half-empty  bookcase. 

Lyeff  Nikolaevitch's  library  is  at  Yasnaya  Polyana, 
and  in  Moscow  he  keeps  only  reference  books  dealing 
with  the  subject  on  which  he  is  working.  In  another 
corner  of  the  study  was  a  broad  divan,  covered  with  oil- 
cloth, and  by  the  side  of  the  divan  stood  a  small,  round 
table  and  a  few  arm-chairs,  and  this  constituted  the  entire 
furniture  of  the  study,  which  recalled  in  its  simplicity 
the  workroom  of  Pascal,  for  whom  L.  Tolstoy  cherishes 
a  profound  respect  in  general ;  and  in  many  points 
he  appears  as  the  follower  of  the  French  philosopher  in 
the  matter  of  habits,  as  well  as  in  the  realm  of  thought. 
For  some  time  I  could  not  get  my  bearings,  or  decide  at 


8         HOW   COUNT    L.  N.  TOLSTOY 

what  height  from  the  earth  we  were,  because  the  road 
to  the  study  was  rather  complicated. 

Afterward  I  learned  that  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch's  study 
lies,  as  it  were,  between  heaven  and  earth.  The  fact  is 
that  when,  in  the  beginning  of  the  '80' s,  the  whole  house 
was  in  process  of  being  rebuilt,  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  did 
not  wish  to  yield  his  study  as  a  sacrifice  to  the  god  of 
luxury,  and  assured  the  Countess  that  many  extremely 
useful  workers  lived  and  labored  in  incomparably 
worse  quarters  than  he.  The  study  was  left  in  its  pre- 
vious condition,  but  this  spoiled  the  side  facade  of  the 
house  facing  the  garden.  On  the  other  hand,  as  regards 
quiet  and  tranquillity,  the  study  was  the  gainer  thereby. 
Far  removed  from  the  street  noises,  and  the  dwelling- 
rooms,  it  is  always  filled  with  that  stillness  which  is  con- 
ducive to  meditation.  In  the  spacious,  ancient  garden, 
upon  which  the  study  windows  look  out,  a  skating-place 
is  arranged  in  winter ;  and  there,  among  other  things,  is 
situated  the  well  of  pure,  healthful  water,  whence  Lyeff 
Nikolaevitch,  for  lack  of  other  physical  labor  at  hand, 
draws  water  and  drives  it  in  a  cask  for  the  household 
needs. 

Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  was  in  an  excellent  frame  of  mind. 
Over  his  finely  modeled  lips,  unconcealed  by  mustaches, 
flitted  a  smile  every  moment,  accompanying  humorous 
interpolations. 

Before  I  knew  him,  judging  from  his  portraits,  I  had 
always  regarded  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  as  a  man  locked  up 
within  himself,  and  rather  gloomy.  This  is  not  true. 
He  is  very  sociable,  talkative,  likes  a  jest,  highly  prizes 
humor,  and  readily  has  recourse  to  it. 

During  the  conversation  in  the  study,  one  of  Lyeff 
Nikolaevitch's  daughters  entered  and  said  :  — 

"  Papa,  N.  has  come,  and  is  waiting  for  you,  in  order 
to  read  the  article  he  promised." 

Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  rose  and  addressed  us  :  — 

"  Do  not  go  away  until  I  return.  Here  are  the  new 
journals.  Here  is  an  interesting  manuscript  of  a  com- 
mon working-man.  But  I  must  go  and  listen  to  the 
nonsense  which  N.  has  written." 


LIVES  AND  WORKS  9 

I  was  rather  surprised  by  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch's  pre- 
diction concerning  the  work  of  N.,  who  is  considered 
one  of  the  most  talented  of  Russian  writers. 

About  forty  minutes  later,  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  re- 
turned, accompanied  by  two  new  visitors,  and  was  visibly 
excited,  somewhat  suggesting  a  man  who  has  escaped 
from  captivity. 

"  I  thought  so,"  he  began  in  a  rather  vexed  tone,— 
"  that  N.  would  regale  us  with  twaddle.  But  his  new 
nonsense  is  utterly  absurd.  At  the  same  time,  it  is  evi- 
dent that  he  has  expended  not  a  little  exertion  and 
thought  upon  it.  And  what  an  overwhelming  phenome- 
non this  is,  in  fact !  "  proceeded  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch,  in  a 
sorrowful  tone.  "  If  it  were  not  a  sin,  I  should  sometimes 
like  to  say,  in  reproach :  '  O  Lord,  why  dost  Thou 
reveal  much  to  one  man,  so  that  it  is  plainer  to  him, 
than  that  twice  two  makes  four  ?  And  from  other  men 
Thou  concealest  everything.  And  in  all  their  being 
there  is  not  so  much  as  one  tiny  crack  through  which 
Thy  light  can  penetrate  ? ' ' 

We  heard  the  rustle  of  a  gown  at  the  door,  and  Coun- 
tess Sophia  Andreevna,  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch's  wife, 
entered  the  study  with  light,  swift  tread.  She  had  come 
to  invite  her  husband's  guests  up-stairs,  to  the  "  big  " 
tea,  so  called  to  distinguish  it  from  the  "  children's  "  tea. 

Countess  Sophia  Andreevna,  Bers  by  birth,  is  sixteen 
years  younger  than  her  famous  husband.  At  the  time 
of  which  I  speak,  she  was  forty-eight  years  of  age.  In 
spite  of  the  fact  that  she  has  had  thirteen  children,1  her 
aspect  is  still  very  youthful  and  full  of  life.  She  has  an 
open,  expressive  countenance,  with  vivacious,  fearless 
eyes,  which  she  constantly  brings  near  to  the  objects  at 
which  she  is  looking.  At  hervery  first  words,  one  feels  her 
straightforward  nature.  In  her  manners  there  is  not  even 
a  shadow  of  truckling  to  suit  the  tone  of  any  one  whom- 
soever, but  her  own  individual  note  is  always  audible. 

She  cordially  invited  us  all  to  tea,  and,  chatting  viva- 
ciously with  Madame  A.  about  some  domestic  question,, 
conducted  us  up-stairs. 

1  She  told  me  fifteen.  — I.  F.  H. 


io      HOW   COUNT   L.  N.  TOLSTOY 

And  when  she  walked,  her  still  beautiful  head  half 
turned,  when  she  addressed  her  husband  with  the  word 
Lytvotchka,  or  interjected  into  the  conversation  some  re- 
mark, one  immediately  felt  that  here  reigned,  if  not  har- 
mony, at  least  complete  independence  of  relations,  and 
that  each  person  had  his  own  independent  position. 

The  spacious,  lofty  hall  which  we  entered  was,  also, 
bare  of  decoration.  Almost  in  the  middle  of  the  room 
stood  a  long,  broad  table,  covered  with  a  white  table- 
cloth (prepared  for  tea),  and  a  row  of  chairs.  On  the 
right  side  of  the  entrance  to  the  hall  stood  a  grand 
piano,  and  a  small  divan  with  an  oval  table.  All  the 
furniture  was  ancient,  of  mahogany.  This  constituted 
the  entire  decoration.  There  were  neither  pictures,  nor 
rugs,  nor  soft  furniture. 

But  the  room  did  not  appear  either  empty  or  neg- 
lected. Rather  than  that,  a  certain  indefinable,  noble 
simplicity  could  be  felt  in  everything.  Nothing,  in  any 
direction,  stood  forth  in  an  angle,  or  thrust  itself  into 
notice.  On  the  contrary,  the  furniture  and  the  hostess 
and  the  guests  all  had  a  certain  peculiar  easy  and  artless 
character. 

At  the  end  of  the  table  a  nickel-plated  samovar  was 
singing,  and  cups,  cream,  and  cold  rolls  were  standing. 
From  the  adjoining  room,  where  a  richer  furnishing  was 
visible,  youthful  voices,  peals  of  laughter,  and  the  sounds 
of  stringed  instruments  were  audible. 

The  Tolstoys  have  a  very  large  family,  and  a  vast  cir- 
cle of  acquaintances.  At  the  time  in  question,  Lyeff 
Nikolaevitch's  family  consisted  of  six  sons  and  three 
daughters.  The  young  generation  were  constantly  draw- 
ing about  them  their  comrades,  relatives,  and  friends,  in 
consequence  of  which,  in  the  Tolstoys'  house,  one  always 
received  the  impression  that  a  performance  of  amateur 
theatricals  had  been  appointed  there  and  that  a  whole 
flower-garden  of  young  people  were  preparing  for  this 
event,  filling  the  entire  house  with  noisy  animation  in 
which  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  also  occasionally  takes  part. 
Especially  if  any  amusement  is  started  which  demands 
•exercise,  endurance,  and  agility,  L.  N.  will,  ever  and 


LIVES  AND   WORKS  n 

anon,  glance  at  the  players  and  share  heartily  in  their 
successes  and  failures ;  often,  too,  he  cannot  restrain 
himself,  and  mingles  in  the  game,  displaying  so  much 
youthful  fervor  and  suppleness  of  muscle  that  one  often 
grows  envious  in  watching  him.  Moreover,  L.  N.  Tol- 
stoy has  still  another  characteristic  peculiarity :  what- 
ever he  does,  whether  he  runs  a  race  with  the  young 
people,  or  sews  shoes,  or  seats  himself  on  his  bicycle,  he 
never,  in  any  situation,  is  ridicrdous.  After  introducing 
us  to  the  other  guests  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  betook  himself 
\)  the  oval  table.  His  appearance  evoked  a  noticeable 
animation,  and,  like  a  magnet,  began  to  attract  people  to 
him.  The  Countess  sat  down  to  the  samovar,  and,  chat- 
ting vivaciously,  began  to  pour  out  the  tea  into  large, 
thick  cups. 

Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  drank  no  tea,  but  later  on  ate  some 
thin  oatmeal  porridge  which  he  often  substitutes  for  tea 
and  supper.  He  was  no  longer  the  same  man  as  in  the 
study.  Charm  and  mirth  seemed  to  have  fallen  from 
him,  and  it  even  seemed  as  though  he  had  grown  some- 
what older  since  he  had  come  from  the  study  into  the 
hall.  When  he  is  fatigued,  or  is  displeased  with  any- 
thing, his  cheeks  sink  in  and  his  face  assumes  a  rather 
gloomy  character  which  is  the  one  chiefly  reproduced 
in  his  portraits. 

One  of  those  present  had  heard  from  some  one  that 
L.  N.  Tolstoy  wished  to  set  to  work  again  at  his  Decem- 
brists, and  asked  him  about  it. 

"No,  I  have  abandoned  that  work  forever,"  replied 
Lyeff  Nikolaevitch,  unwillingly.  A  pause  ensued. 

"...  because  I  did  not  find  therein  what  I  sought, 
that  is  to  say,  what  is  of  general  interest  to  mankind. 
That  whole  history  had  no  roots  under  it,"  he  added, 
with  a  shade  of  effort  in  his  voice,  merely  to  avert  the 
awkwardness  of  silence. 

He  does  not  like  to  have  people  catechize  him  about 
his  plans. 

Afterward  I  learned  that  he  had  written  War  and 
Peace  accidentally,  as  it  were,  by  way  of  an  introduc- 
tion to  the  Decembrists.  It  came  about  in  this  way. 


12       HOW   COUNT   L.  N.  TOLSTOY 

With  the  intention  of  writing  the  Decembrists,  he  began 
to  study  the  epoch  which  preceded  their  activity,  and 
with  that  object  made  the  acquaintance  of  the  famous 
Ermoloff  and  visited  him.  The  events  of  1805  and  the 
war  for  the  Fatherland  in  1812  attracted  the  artistic 
feeling  of  the  great  writer.  He  began  to  group  to- 
gether several  episodes  and,  as  it  were,  to  attach  them 
to  each  other  with  facts  from  his  family  chronicles. 

And  the  more  deeply  "the  exacting  artist"  became 
engrossed  in  the  study  of  historical  materials,  the 
broader  grew  the  plan  of  his  new  work,  which,  at  last, 
took  possession  of  him  and  occupied  five  years  of  in- 
tense mental  labor.  But  what  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  has 
printed  constitutes  only  a  small  fraction  of  the  work 
which  he  projected  and  wrote.  All  the  rough  drafts  of 
War  and  Peace  came  near  being  lost.  During  a  severe 
and  prolonged  illness  of  Countess  Sophia  Andreevna, 
these  papers,  through  the  carelessness  of  some  persons 
of  the  household,  were  thrown  out  of  the  storehouse 
and  lay  for  several  months  in  the  ditch.  Thanks  alone 
to  the  indefatigable  energy  and  solicitude  of  Countess 
S.  A.  Tolstoy,  the  precious  documents  were  gathered  up, 
put  in  order,  and  are  now  in  the  Rumyantzoff  Muzeum, 
in  Moscow. 

After  the  Decembrists,  the  conversation  turned  upon 
another  of  L.  N.  Tolstoy's  unfinished  romances  —  Peter 
the  Great.  This  work  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  has  entirely 
abandoned. 

"  There  was  much  in  that  first  matter  which  seemed 
to  me  too  confused  and  distant,"  he  said.  "  Neverthe- 
less, I  was  personally  acquainted  with  many  of  the  De- 
cembrists, and  could  avail  myself  of  their  information. 
But  in  the  other  case,  I  should  have  had  to  invent  a 
very  great  deal.  But  the  principal  point  is  that  my 
study  of  the  original  sources  entirely  altered  my  view  of 
Peter  I.  He  lost  his  former  interest  for  me." 

One  of  those  present  touched  on  the  "  post-Decem- 
brist "  emancipation  epoch,  and  mentioned  the  brothers 
Aksakoff,  Katkoff,  Granovsky,  Hertzen,  and  others,  with 
all  of  whom  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  had  been  personally 


LIVES  AND   WORKS  13 

acquainted.  At  the  name  of  Hertzen  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch 
brightened  up,  and  narrated  how  he  had  met  him  in 
London.  An  opinion  has  gained  currency  that  L.  Tol- 
stoy does  not  acknowledge  that  Hertzen  had  literary 
gifts.  This  is  untrue.  On  the  contrary,  it  is  precisely 
his  literary  gift  that  he  prizes  very  highly.  And  when 
the  discussion  touched  that  question,  a  fervent,  youth- 
fully fresh  note  rang  out  in  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch's  weary 
voice,  a  note  which  always  makes  its  appearance  with 
him  when  he  speaks  of  any  genuine  gift  or  fine  act. 

"  If  we  were  to  express  by  the  relations  of  per- 
centage," said  he,  "the  influence  of  our  writers  upon 
society,  we  should  obtain,  approximately,  the  following 
result:  Pushkin,  thirty  per  cent;  Gogol,  fifteen  per 
cent ;  Turgeneff,  ten  per  cent." 

L.  N.  Tolstoy  enumerated  all  the  prominent  Russian 
writers,  except  himself,  and,  reckoning  Hertzen's  share 
at  eighteen  per  cent,  he  said  with  conviction  :  — 

"  He  was  brilliant  and  profound,  which  is  very  rarely 
met  with." 

A  young  artist  approached  our  table.  Lyeff  Nikolae- 
vitch entered  into  conversation  with  him  about  his 
works,  and  passed  on  to  art,  from  which  he  demanded, 
not  bouquets  and  cupids,  but  service  rendered  to  the 
loftiest  requirements  of  the  human  spirit.  He  soon 
passed  into  a  passionate  tone,  and  began  to  talk  warmly, 
as  he  did  so  hastily  knotting  and  untying  a  bit  of  string 
which  had  happened  to  come  to  hand.  Some  one 
alluded  to  the  huge  picture  of  a  certain  Moscow  artist. 

"Well,  then,  take  that  picture,"  said  Lyeff  Nikolae- 
vitch, excitedly.  "  Who  wants  that  coarse  daub,  which 
simply  reeks  of  the  knout?  I  cannot  endure  such 
'  Russian '  productions.  And  why  those  stupid  phizes  ? 
Who  is  there  that  does  not  know  that  there  are  stupid 
phizes  in  the  world  ?  But  art  ought  always  to  say  some- 
thing new,  because  it  is  the  expression  of  the  artist's 
inner  condition,  and  only  answers  its  appointed  use 
when  the  artist  gives  us  something  that  no  one  hitherto 
has  given,  and  which  cannot  be  better  expressed  in  any 
other  way.  There  is  Gay's  Christ  before  Pilate,  —  that 


i4       HOW   COUNT   L.  N.  TOLSTOY 

is  genuine  art,  although  the  picture  is  badly  painted. 
But  no  one  before  Gay  ever  said  it  in  that  way,  and  it 
was  impossible  to  say  it  by  any  other  means,  than  as 
Gay  did  by  his  tortured  Christ,  and  his  well-fed,  fat 
Pilate.  And  Christ  and  Pilate  have  always  and  every- 
where been,  and  will  be,  exactly  such  persons.  And  see 
how  Gay  toils  over  his  subjects !  For  tens  of  years  he 
studied  the  life  of  Christ,  and  not  from  the  external, 
Palestine  side,  like  others,  but  from  the  inside.  You 
would  go  to  him  at  night,  and  he  would  be  sitting  with 
rumpled  hair,  on  the  divan,  reading  the  Gospels.  And 
there  is  no  other  way  possible.  For  art  is  a  vast,  a 
mighty  instrument." 

Evidently,  the  young  artist  did  not  wholly  agree  with 
Lyeff  Nikolaevitch,  and  he  cautiously  began  to  present 
the  idea  that,  in  art,  the  how,  not  the  what,  is  important. 

"  But,  assuredly,  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch,  you  recognize 
prayer  ?  "  he  asked  irresolutely. 

"  Of  course.     Is  it  possible  to  live  without  prayer  ?  " 

"Well,  then,  for  the  artist  his  picture  may  be  a 
prayer.  Only,  one  expresses  it  by  a  historical  subject, 
another  in  fantastic  images,  a  third  by  landscape." 

"Then  wall-paper  must  be  reckoned  as  art,"  inter- 
rupted Lyeff  Nikolaevitch,  making  a  noose  in  the 
string. 

"  But  you  must  admit  that  a  certain  landscape  may 
have  an  ennobling  effect  upon  the  soul  of  man.  That 
is  to  say,  it  may  act  upon  his  soul,  and  in  transmission 
it  may  engender  in  him  a  good  feeling  or  prevent  his 
perpetrating  something  bad." 

"  And  a  cat  which  leaps  from  the  table  to  the  floor 
may  prevent  something,"  retorted  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch, 
intractably,  and  went  on  to  characterize  the  conditions 
that  constitute  something  in  the  nature  of  false  art, 
which  people  do  not  need  in  the  least. 

"  Nowadays,  go  where  you  will,"  said  he,  "  into  a 
book-shop,  china-shop,  a  jeweler's  shop,  —  everywhere 
there  is  art.  And  not  any  amateur  art,  but  patented 
art,  with  diplomas  and  gold  medals.  Go  to  the  theater, 
—  and  there  again  is  art :  some  woman  or  other  kicks 


LIVES  AND   WORKS  15 

her  heels  higher  than  her  head.  And  this  repulsive 
stupidity  is  not  only  not  considered  improper,  but,  on 
the  contrary,  is  elevated  into  something  first-class  and 
so  important  for  people,  that  a  fixed  place  is  even  set 
apart  for  it  in  the  newspapers,  alongside  the  greatest 
events  of  the  world.  Some  organs  of  the  press  have, 
moreover,  regular  appraisers,  who  often  drive  straight 
from  the  theater  to  the  printing-office,  by  night,  and 
there,  instantly,  amid  the  rumbling  of  the  machines, 
write  down  their  impressions  in  haste,  that  on  the 
morrow  the  world  may  know  exactly  how,  on  the  pre- 
vious evening,  Madame  So-and-So  kicked  up  her  heels 
in  such  and  such  a  theater." 

"  But  God  grant  that  all  this  may  be  sifted  out,  in 
time,  and  that  good,  nutritious  flour  may  be  obtained  as 
a  result,"  remarked  one  of  his  hearers. 

"  Why  must  I  wait  ? "  retorted  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch. 
"  Even  now  I  feel  the  husks  in  my  teeth.  The  trouble 
is  that  no  end  to  these  husks  is  visible,  because,  day  by 
day,  they  are  artificially  manufactured  in  the  person  of 
divers  music  and  art  schools,  which  disfigure  thousands 
of  young  lives.  But  without  these  nursery-gardens  of 
every  sort  of  lie  and  routine  these  young  lives  might 
have  been  of  use  to  mankind." 

"Well,  very  good,  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch,"  said  one  of 
his  interlocutors,  "  we  will  admit  that  the  musical  and 
artistic  institutions  which  exist  in  Russia  really  are  of 
no  profit  to  the  world.  We  will  admit  that,  and  men- 
tally annihilate  them.  Then  what  institutions  will  you 
give  us  in  place  of  these  worthless  ones  ?  " 

"What  a  strange  claim!"  ejaculated  Lyeff  Nikolae- 
vitch, in  amazement,  shrugging  his  shoulders.  "  It 's 
just  the  same  as  though  a  sick  man  were  to  come  to  me 
with  a  swollen  face.  The  swollen  face  embarrasses 
him.  The  swollen  face  is  a  burden  to  him.  I  cure  him 
of  the  swollen  face.  Then  he  turns  on  me :  '  And  what 
are  you  going  to  give  me,  in  place  of  the  swollen  face  ? ' 
Why,  nothing  is  necessary  in  place  of  the  swollen 
face." 

Every  one  began  to  laugh. 


16      HOW   COUNT   L.  N.  TOLSTOY 

A  student,  with  a  clever,  sympathetic  face,  entered 
the  room  unconstrainedly,  and  politely  saluted  Lyeff 
Nikolaevitch,  who  returned  his  greeting  in  a  friendly 
manner  and  introduced  him  to  us.  The  student  had 
just  come  from  some  meeting,  where  some  one  had  read 
something  about  the  French  writer,  Taine,  who  had  re- 
cently died.  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  became  interested  in 
the  student's  narration,  but  when  the  latter  began,  with 
some  pathos,  to  speak  of  Taine's  great  merits,  Lyeff 
Nikolaevitch  interrupted  him. 

"  What  are  his  great  merits  ?  Why,  if  the  truth  were 
to  be  told,  plainly,  in  Russian,  Taine  was  a  tolerably 
dull  man." 

The  student  started,  but  restrained  himself,  and  said, 
with  a  smile :  — 

"  So  you  mean  to  say,  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch,  that  Taine 
was  narrow  on  some  questions." 

"  I  mean  to  say  exactly  what  I  did  say :  that  Taine 
was,  on  the  whole,  a  narrow  man,  otherwise  it  is  impos- 
sible to  explain  his  efforts  to  reduce  the  influence  of 
man  in  the  history  of  mankind  almost  to  a  cipher,  and 
relegate  the  chief  role  to  various  factors,  like  water, 
clay,  and  so  forth.  Is  not  that  stupidity?  But  how 
about  Buddha!  How  about  Christ!  Did  not  they 
change  the  forms  of  life  of  millions  of  men  ?  For  clay 
and  water  cannot  progress,  but  only  living  life  led  by 
the  spirit,  which  sheds  abroad  in  successive  aspects  its 
influence  upon  the  most  remote  ages  and  genera- 
tions." 

The  student  listened  with  respect  to  Lyeff  Nikolae- 
vitch, with  one  hand  thrust  under  the  edge  of  his  uni- 
form, but  evidently  he  did  not  entirely  agree  with  him. 
At  his  last  words  he  bowed  slightly,  and  said :  — 

"  But  anthropology  proves  —  " 

"  What  can  be  proved  by  anthropology  which,  itself, 
still  stands  in  need  of  proof  ?  It  was  invented  in  order 
to  obtain  the  greater  wages." 

"  You  deny  —  " 

"  Wages  ?     I  never  thought  of  such  a  thing." 

"  But,  anthropology  is  not  manufactured  out  of  one's 


LIVES  AND  WORKS  17 

own  head,  but  deduced  from  facts,  obtained  by  scientific 
investigators  —  " 

"  What  facts  ?  The  investigator  arrives  on  the  coast, 
and,  with  the  aid  of  a  dull  interpreter,  inquires  their 
ways  and  habits ;  the  interpreter  lies  about  the  whole 
thing,  and  the  investigator  carefully  writes  down,  and 
adds  something  or  other  of  his  own." 

The  student  began  to  be  agitated. 

I  looked  at  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch,  and  I  seemed  to  see 
spread  out  before  me  those  stormy  scenes  in  Nekrasoff  s 
lodgings,  which  took  place  in  the  '5o's,  when  young, 
impetuous  Count  L.  Tolstoy,  presenting  a  living  em- 
bodiment of  Tchatsky,1  played  in  St.  Petersburg  literary 
circles  the  part  of  gadfly,  and  in  the  harshest  form  ex- 
pressed his  protests  against  everything  which  seemed  to 
him  conventional  and  false. 

"You  cannot  imagine  what  scenes  there  were,"  re- 
lates D.  B.  Grigorovitch.  "  Oh,  heavens !  Turgeneff 
would  squeak  and  squeak,  clutch  his  throat  with  his 
hand,  and,  with  the  eyes  of  a  dying  gazelle,  would 
whisper :  — 

" '  I  can  endure  no  more.     I  have  bronchitis.' 

" '  Bronchitis,'  Tolstoy  would  growl  out  immediately 
after ;  '  bronchitis  —  is  an  imaginary  malady  —  bron- 
chitis is  a  mental  — ' 

"  Nekrasoff's  heart  died  within  him ;  he  was  afraid  to 
lose  both  Turgeneff  and  Tolstoy,  in  whom,  he  instinc- 
tively felt,  lay  the  chief  strength  of  the  Contemporary. 
He  had  to  manceuver.  All  are  irritated.  They  do 
not  know  what  to  say.  Tolstoy  is  lying  in  the  middle 
of  the  room  which  serves  as  corridor,  on  a  morocco- 
covered  divan,  and  sulking,  while  Turgeneff,  parting 
the  skirts  of  his  short  pea-jacket,  with  hands  thrust  into 
his  pockets,  continues  to  stride  back  and  forth  through 
all  three  rooms.  With  the  object  of  averting  a  catas- 
trophe, D.  Grigorovitch  approaches  Tolstoy. 

" '  My  dear  Tolstoy,  do  not  be  vexed.  You  do  not 
know  how  he  values  and  loves  you.' 

"  '  I  will  not  permit  him  to  do  anything  to  harm  me,' 

1  The  hero  of  Griboydeff  's  famous  comedy,  The  Misfortune  of  Wit.  —  1*. 


1 8       HOW   COUNT   L.  N.  TOLSTOY 

says  Tolstoy,  with  swelling  nostrils.  '  Here  he  is  march- 
ing to  and  fro  past  me,  and  wagging  his  democratic 
haunches.' " 

I  involuntarily  recall  that  scene,  when  L.  Tolstoy, 
the  first  time  he  spent  the  evening  with  Panaeff,  could 
not  restrain  his  tendency  to  disputations,  and  hotly 
began  to  talk  of  precisely  the  thing  which  D.  Grigoro- 
vitch  had  begged  him  not  to  mention  to  Panaeff. 

And  when  I  gazed  at  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  during  his 
dispute  with  the  student,  it  became  clear  to  me  pre- 
cisely why  he  behaved  so  demonstratively  toward  Tur- 
geneff  in  the  literary  circles  of  St.  Petersburg. 

By  virtue  of  his  nature,  Lyeff  Tolstoy  cannot  pass 
over  in  silence  the  phenomenon  which  he  considers 
monstrous,  just  as  the  sea  cannot  remain  tranquil  when 
the  wind  rises.  This  is  a  property  of  his  nature.  It 
imparts  vast  strength  to  Lyeff  Tolstoy,  but,  at  the  same 
time,  it  creates  for  him  an  inward  hell,  before  which  the 
tragedy  of  soul  which  Hamlet  experienced  must  pale. 

Countess  Sophia  Andreevna  approached  Lyeff  Niko- 
laevitch, and  said,  in  a  low  voice,  that  several  of  the 
guests  wished  to  occupy  themselves  with  music.  Lyeff 
Nikolaevitch  rose  with  alacrity,  threw  away  the  string, 
and,  as  though  gliding  on  ice,  hastily  betook  himself  to 
the  large  table.  On  learning  that  they  proposed  to 
begin  by  playing  Wieniawski  (piano  and  violin),  and 
then  Beethoven  (piano,  violin,  and  violoncello),  he  set 
to  work  to  arrange  everything  as  soon  as  possible.  He 
hunted  up  the  music,  helped  to  raise  the  lid  of  the 
piano,  and  when  all  was  in  readiness,  he  sat  down,  with 
a  concentrated  manner,  on  one  side,  and  listened  atten- 
tively to  the  music.  At  the  end  of  each  piece  he  rose, 
and,  thrusting  his  left  hand  into  the  belt  of  his  blouse, 
he  walked,  with  body  bent  forward,  to  the  performers, 
thanked  them  for  the  pleasure  they  had  given  him,  and 
made  subtile  comments  on  the  more  successful  passages. 

And,  as  I  looked  at  that  delicate  and  well-bred  man, 
from  whose  every  word  shone  forth  sensitiveness,  it  was 
difficult  to  imagine  him  as  the  vehement  protester,  lying 
with  inflated  nostrils  on  the  divan,  and  unwilling  to 


LIVES  AND  WORKS  19^ 

yield  so  much  as  an  iota  to  one  of  the  most  inoffensive 
men  in  the  world. 

Lyeff  Nikolaevitch's  praise  gave  the  performers  great 
pleasure,  and  with  visible  cheerfulness  they  executed 
several  more  pieces  at  his  request.  Whether  he  did 
this  in  order  to  afford  pleasure  to  his  guests,  or  with  the 
object  of  obtaining  a  little  respite  from  the  fatiguing 
conversation,  or  whether  he  yielded  to  his  passion  for 
music, — who  knows?  Perhaps  all  these  motives  were 
intermingled  within  him.  But  he  listened  with  concen- 
tration, with  attention,  with  head  bowed,  and  gently 
moving  the  fingers  of  his  clasped  hands. 


20      HOW   COUNT   L.  N.  TOLSTOY 


CHAPTER  III 

THREE  weeks  later  I  happened  again  to  be  at  the  Tol- 
stoys'. Again  they  had  many  visitors,  and  again,  after 
tea,  began  something  in  the  nature  of  a  concert  section. 
One  of  the  ladies  sang.  But,  evidently,  the  singing 
displeased  the  boys.  They  went  into  the  adjoining 
room  and  made  a  noise  there.  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  lost 
his  patience  and  went  after  the  boys. 

"  Are  you  making  a  noise  on  purpose  ? "  he  asked. 

After  some  hesitation  came  an  answer  in  the  affirma- 
tive :  — 

"  Y-y-yes." 

"  Does  not  her  singing  please  you  ? " 

"  Well,  no.  Why  does  she  howl  ?  "  declared  one  of 
the  boys,  with  vexation. 

"  So  you  wish  to  protest  against  her  singing  ?  "  asked 
Lyeff  Nikolaevitch,  in  a  serious  tone. 

"  Yes ! " 

"  Then  go  out  and  say  so,  or  stand  in  the  middle  of 
the  room  and  tell  every  one  present.  That  would  be 
rude,  but  upright  and  honest.  But  you  have  got  to- 
gether and  are  squealing  like  grasshoppers  in  a  corner. 
I  will  not  endure  such  protests." 

Nevertheless,  the  protester  did  not  follow  the  advice 
of  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch,  but  only  burst  out  laughing  and 
became  silent. 

I  afterward  learned  that  very  rarely  is  there  an  eve- 
ning when  there  are  no  guests  at  the  Tolstoys'.  They 
tried  to  establish  fixed  days  for  receptions,  but  it  ended 
in  nothing.  On  the  reception  days  the  friends  of  Coun- 
tess Sophia  Andreevna  chiefly  assembled,  and  on  the 
other  days,  beginning  from  seven  o'clock  in  the  eve- 
ning, the  outer  door  with  the  spring  began  to  bang  as  be- 
fore, and  to  admit  various  visitors  to  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch. 


LIVES  AND  WORKS  21 

And  who  all  did  not  come  to  that  little  wooden  house, 
painted  a  dark  ocher  ?  Learned  men  and  writers,  painters 
and  artists,  statesmen  and  financiers,  governors,  secta- 
rians, officials  of  the  County  Council,  senators,  students, 
military  men,  factory  laborers,  peasants,  correspondents 
of  all  shades  and  nationalities,  and  so  forth  and  so  on. 
Not  a  winter's  day  passed  by  without  some  new  face 
making  its  appearance  in  Long- Weaver's  Lane,  in  quest 
of  an  interview  with  the  celebrated  Russian  writer. 

But  all  his  visitors  may  be  divided  into  two  principal 
categories:  I,  "spectators,"  who  present  themselves  to 
L.  Tolstoy  exclusively  as  to  a  celebrity,  and  2,  "  the 
heavy-laden,"  that  is,  those  who  seek  from  Lyeff  Niko- 
laevitch  cooperation,  advice,  aid. 

The  "spectators,"  in  the  majority  of  cases,  depart 
from  L.  N.  Tolstoy  disenchanted,  and  only  pretend  to 
be  in  ecstasies  over  him.  In  reality,  he  does  not  give 
them  that  which  they  seek  and  which  he  might  give 
them.  Although  he  is  an  idealist  in  his  views,  he  can- 
not, nevertheless,  endure  idle  conversations,  and  is  in- 
clined only  to  businesslike,  practical  conversations. 

As  he  possesses  a  keen,  penetrating  mind,  and  wide 
experience  of  life,  he  frequently  with  one  glance  grasps 
the  inward  contents  of  the  visitor,  and  immediately 
places  himself  upon  a  footing  of  perfect  equality  with 
him,  or,  as  it  were,  freezes  up  himself. 

It  was  announced  to  L.  Tolstoy  that  a  strange  lady 
wished  to  see  him.  He  was  not  at  leisure,  but  he  re- 
ceived her,  and,  in  a  businesslike  tone,  inquired  what 
she  wanted.  On  seeing  him,  his  visitor  became  embar- 
rassed, but  mastered  her  emotion,  and  announced  with 
decision :  — 

"  I  have  read  your  last  work,  and  was  brought  to  a 
stop  by  several  passages.  They  are  incomprehensible 
to  me." 

"  So  that 's  it !  "  said  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch,  brightening 
up ;  and,  inviting  his  visitor  to  his  study,  he  spent  several 
hours  in  conversation  with  her. 

They  parted  friends,  and,  in  speaking  of  her,  he 
always  seemed,  as  it  were,  to  be  illuminated  from  within. 


22       HOW   COUNT    L.  N.  TOLSTOY 

One  day  some  one  said,  in  his  presence,  that  she  ought 
to  be  valued  at  her  weight  in  gold.  He  corrected 
this:  — 

"  No,  no  !  She  ought  to  be  valued  at  her  weight  in 
the  most  precious  stones." 

Another  female  visitor  came  to  him  in  order  to  place 
her  large  property  at  his  disposal.  He  was  touched, 
but  declined  the  proposal. 

"  God  protect  us  from  such  huge  sums !  One  in- 
fallibly gets  into  trouble  with  them." 

Lyeff  Tolstoy's  popularity  often  occasions  him  comi- 
cal encounters,  which  he  himself  sometimes  tells  about 
afterward  with  inimitable  comicalness.  One  day,  in 
Moscow,  he  was  walking  along  a  narrow  sidewalk,  when 
an  extremely  drunken  man  crawled,  staggering,  along 
to  meet  him.  When  the  stranger  caught  sight  of  Lyeff 
Nikolaevitch,  he  came  to  anchor,  as  it  were,  and  with 
twisting  tongue  inquired :  — 

"  Count  Tolstoy  ?  —  Y-yes  ? " 

"Yes." 

"  I  am  your  adorer  and  imitator,"  said  the  fellow,  with 
feeling,  and  respectfully  made  way  for  his  exemplar. 

On  another  occasion  a  certain  citizen  presented  him- 
self before  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch,  and  announced:  — 

"  I  should  like  to  go  over  to  your  Ilhtstrious  Highness1  s 
creed." 

Still  more  amusing  was  the  appearance  of  two  Ameri- 
can women.  One  day,  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  was  informed 
that  two  American  women  wished  to  see  him,  and  that 
they  had  come  to  Moscow  for  that  special  purpose.  He 
received  them,  and  entered  into  conversation. 

The  Americans  announced  with  much  aplomb  that 
they  had  performed  something  in  the  nature  of  a  feat, 
namely,  they  had  made  a  tour  of  the  globe,  having  set 
out  from  different  points  in  America,  with  the  agree- 
ment that  they  were  to  meet  in  Moscow  to  see  "the 
great  writer  of  the  Russian  land."  And  behold,  they 
had  accomplished  the  aim  they  had  in  view,  and  were 
content  that  they  had  carried  out  their  mission.  He 
smiled,  and  said  :  — 


LIVES  AND   WORKS  23 

"  But  I  think  that  you  might  have  made  a  better  use 
of  your  time." 

One  of  the  Americans  exclaimed :  — 

"  I  was  convinced  that  Leo  Tolstoy  would  infallibly 
say  something  of  that  sort." 

And,  overflowing  with  satisfaction,  the  grateful  visitors 
took  their  leave  of  L.  N.  Tolstoy. 

As  he  hardly  ever  refuses  to  receive  any  one,  Lyeff 
Nikolaevitch  on  some  days  is  greatly  fatigued  by  visit- 
ors, because  some  of  them  often  demand  an  augmenta- 
tion of  patience  and  great  endurance.  An  "  admirer  " 
arrives,  and  after  a  lyrical  preface  begins  to  demonstrate 
that  he  is  in  extreme  need  of  a  certain  sum  of  money, 
and  so  extraordinarily  in  need  that  there  is  nothing  to 
be  done  but  to  take  it  out  and  hand  it  over. 

"But  I  have  no  money,"  declares  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch. 

"It  cannot  be.  You  are  a  millionaire.  Moreover, 
your  works  bring  you  in  an  income  of  tens  of  thousands. 
In  conclusion,  every  line  of  yours  is,  so  to  speak,  capital 
of  a  certain  sort." 

"  Nevertheless,  I  cannot  comply  with  your  request." 

"  This  is  inhuman,  Count !  Then  why  do  you  preach 
about  self-sacrifice,  when  you  refuse  me  a  paltry  twenty- 
five  rubles,  which  are  absolutely  necessary  to  me  ?  This 
is  the  fourth  month  that  I  have  been  walking  the  streets 
of  Moscow  from  morning  till  night,  in  order  to  get  my- 
self a  ticket  to  Kaluga.  Understand,  Count,  I  have 
been  walking,  in  vain,  ior  four  months." 

"  But  in  that  space  of  time  you  might  have  walked  to 
Kaluga  several  times  over." 

This  comment  dumfounded  the  visitor  for  a  moment. 
But  he  promptly  recovered  himself,  and,  with  complete 
conviction  of  his  own  uprightness,  began  to  demonstrate 
that  he  could  not  travel  on  foot,  like  a  common  peasant, 
and  eat  whatever  came  to  hand,  because  he  was  of  a 
good  family,  and  not  in  a  condition  to  eat  bad  food ;  he 
must  have  good  food. 

Some  visitors  go  even  farther,  and  make  downright 
threats  to  kill  themselves  if  their  request  is  not  complied 
with. 


24      HOW   COUNT   L.  N.  TOLSTOY 

Such  visits  always  greatly  disturb  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch. 

"You  look  at  a  visitor  of  that  sort,"  said  he  one  day, 
"  and  you  feel  dreadfully.  You  perceive  that  such  peo- 
ple are  precisely  the  ones  who  are  capable  of  anything, 
except  of  making  a  moral  effort  over  themselves.  Such 
a  spectacle  is  terrible!" 

A  painful  impression  is  also  produced  upon  him  by 
visitors  who  present  themselves  to  him  for  the  purpose 
of  enlisting  him  in  some  cause  which  is  contrary  to  the 
principles  of  his  soul.  He  experienced  something  of 
that  sort  in  connection  with  the  visit  of  the  well-known 
French  poet  Deroulede,  who  came  to  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch 
with  the  object  of  enticing  him  with  his  idea  of  "re- 
venge." In  the  end,  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch,  who,  generally, 
treats  foreigners  with  particular  cordiality,  could  endure 
it  no  longer,  and  replied  with  vehemence  to  Deroulede's 
tirade :  — 

"  The  frontiers  of  kingdoms  should  be  determined,  not 
by  the  sword  and  blood,  but  by  the  rational  agreement 
of  nations.  And  when  there  are  no  longer  any  people 
who  do  not  understand  this,  then  there  will  be  no  more 
wars." 

Thereupon,  L.  N.  rose,  and,  in  much  agitation,  left  the 
room. 

This  scene  created  a  sensation.  Deroulede  took  um- 
brage, and  when  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  returned,  he  in- 
formed him  that  he  considered  his  reasoning  artificial, 
because  the  first  Russian  peasant  you  might  meet  would 
certainly  reason  more  justly ;  and,  in  proof  of  the  justice 
of  his  cause,  Deroulede  proposed  that  his  appeal  should 
be  translated  into  Russian  for  the  first  Russian  peasant 
at  hand.  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  assented.  They  set  out 
for  a  walk.  Prokofiy,  a  peasant  of  Yasnaya  Poly  ana, 
met  them.  L.  N.  called  him  up,  and  translated  Derou- 
lede's pathetic  harangue  to  the  effect  that  the  Russians 
and  the  French  are  brethren,  but  that  between  them 
stands  the  German,  who  prevents  them  from  embracing 
each  other,  and  therefore  Deroulede  proposed  that  Pro- 
kofiy should  lend  a  hand  to  squeeze  the  fat  out  of  the 
German. 


LIVES  AND  WORKS  25 

Prokofiy  listened  attentively,  reflected,  and  said  :  — 
"  No,  Master,  let  it,  rather,  be  in  this  way  :  Do  you 
French  work,  and  we  Russians  will  also  work,  and  after 
our  toil  is  over,  we  will  go  to  the  public-house,  and  we 
will  take  the  German  with  us." 

This  combination  did  not  satisfy  De"roulede. 


26       HOW   COUNT   L.  N.  TOLSTOY 


CHAPTER   IV 

THE  female  visitors  who  come  to  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch 
sometimes  join  hysterics  to  their  persistent  demands. 

One  lady  made  her  appearance  and  announced  that 
she  absolutely  must  have,  in  all  haste,  several  thousand 
rubles,  and  that  it  was  perfectly  easy  for  adorable  Lyeff 
Nikolaevitch  to  do  her  that  favor,  because  he  was  so 
kind,  so  good,  and,  probably,  would  not  take  upon  his 
soul  all  the  results  which  his  refusal  would  entail.  He 
endeavored,  in  every  way,  to  calm  his  visitor.  But  noth- 
ing would  calm  her  except  the  stated  sum,  and  not  one 
kopek  less.  On  being  refused,  the  visitor  uttered  a 
shriek,  and  fell  down  in  a  so-called  swoon.  She  was  re- 
stored to  consciousness,  and  offered  a  small  sum  of 
money  for  her  traveling  expenses.  She  took  it,  and  de- 
parted with  disenchanted  aspect. 

Ladies,  in  general,  very  frequently  vanquish  Lyeff 
Nikolaevitch,  by  expressing  their  sympathy  and  their 
wishes  in  such  a  theatrical  form,  as  almost  always  in- 
duces in  him  a  state  of  irritation,  and  then  upon  his 
features  a  very  harsh  and  bristling  quality  makes  its 
appearance,  which  reminds  one  of  old  Prince  Bolkonsky, 
in  War  and  Peace. 

Some  women  visitors  present  themselves,  and  imme- 
diately say :  — 

"  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch,  teach  us  life !  " 

Such  demonstrative  apparitions  always  put  him  out 
of  countenance. 

In  the  winter  of  1896,  after  the  first  representation  in 
the  Little  Theater,  Moscow,  of  The  Power  of  Darkness^ 
a  crowd  of  students  betook  themselves  straight  from  the 
theater  to  Weaver's  Lane,  to  L.  N.  Tolstoy,  "  in  order  to 
express  to  him  their  sentiments  of  gratitude  and  love." 

The  students  thronged  about  the  gates  of  the  house 


LIVES  AND   WORKS  27 

where  L.  N.  lives,  and  began  to  hold  a  council,  as  to 
how  they  should  proceed  to  carry  out  their  premeditated 
plan.  Was  it  timely  to  present  themselves  at  such  an 
hour,  even  with  the  object  of  expressing  kind  feelings  ? 
Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  might  be  already  asleep  at  that 
moment  But  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  was  making  a  call 
at  the  time,  and  returned  home  with  one  of  his  friends 
just  as  the  students  were  discussing  the  matter.  He 
was  very  much  astonished  at  the  unusual  assemblage  in 
Weaver's  Lane,  and,  slipping  unperceived  through  the 
ranks  of  the  students,  he  entered  the  yard.  But  they 
instantly  divined  the  identity  of  the  old  man  who  had 
entered  the  house,  and  they  cautiously  rang  the  bell. 

"  We  have  come  to  express  to  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  our 
profound  gratitude  for  The  Power  of  Darkness"  said  the 
spokesman. 

When  he  was  informed  of  the  students'  request,  he 
became  extremely  embarrassed. 

"Why  are  they  doing  this?  What  shall  I  say  to 
them?" 

And  when,  a  few  minutes  later,  the  throng  of  students 
entered  the  vestibule,  and  one  of  them,  mounting  a  chair, 
in  an  agitated  voice  addressed  a  greeting  to  Lyeff  Niko- 
laevitch, while  the  others  darted  forward  to  kiss  his 
hands,  he  was  agitated,  and,  for  some  time,  could  not 
speak. 

Something  similar  took  place  also  at  the  time  of  the 
last  Congress  of  Naturalists  in  Moscow. 

L.  N.  Tolstoy  went  to  hear  the  report  of  his  old 

friend,  Professor  Tz .  Some  one  present,  perceiving 

Lyeff  Nikolaevitch,  ejaculated  in  a  challenging  whis- 
per :  — 

"  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  is  here !  " 

These  words  ran  through  the  hall  like  lightning. 
Every  one  began  to  look  about,  to  see  the  famous  writer. 
Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  felt  that  one  of  those  hypnotizing 
scenes  which  he  has  always  avoided  was  beginning,  and 
tried  to  slip  out  unperceived. 

The  vast  throng  which  filled  the  University  hall  was 
stirred,  and  shouted  :  — 


28       HOW   COUNT   L.  N.  TOLSTOY 

"  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  !  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  !  " 
Finally,  the  managers  were  obliged  to  request  Lyeff 
Nikolaevitch  to  occupy  the  place  of  honor  on  the  plat- 
form. The  walls  trembled  with  the  applause  wherewith 
the  naturalists  greeted  the  great  Russian  writer.  This 
scene  greatly  disturbed  L.  N.,  and  he  does  not  like  to 
recall  it.  But  every  simple,  artless  expression  of  sym- 
pathy touches  him  deeply.  And  if  some  of  his  visitors 
sometimes  cause  him  displeasure,  others,  on  the  con- 
trary, afford  him  lofty  gratification,  by  laying  bare  before 
him  whole  beds  of  spiritual  riches. 

In  one  of  his  letters,  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  writes :  — 
"  It  is  joyful  to  hear  of  influence  over  other  people, 
because  only  then  are  you  convinced  that  the  fire  within 
you  is  genuine  when  it  sets  aflame."  And  this  sweet- 
ness of  consciousness  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  sometimes 
extracts  from  his  incessant  association  with  people. 

And  who  knows  whether  he  could  understand  men's 
characters  on  all  sides,  and  so  delicately  feel  the  pulse 
of  mankind,  without  these  daily  encounters  and  con- 
versations ? 

To  sit  out  an  evening  at  his  house  occasionally  means 
to  enter  immediately  into  the  current  of  the  most  vitally 
interesting  questions,  which  are  agitating  the  thoughtful 
part  of  society  at  the  moment,  and  to  make  acquaintance 
with  the  representatives  of  all  possible  classes  and 
tendencies. 


LIVES  AND  WORKS  29 


CHAPTER  V 

EVENING  is  drawing  on.  The  clock  has  struck  seven, 
Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  is  sitting,  after  dinner,  in  his  study, 
with  his  leg  tucked  up  under  him,  and  listening  with 
great  interest  to  a  young  scientific  man,  who  is  telling 
about  a  new  theory  of  light;  from  time  to  time  he  touches 
the  hand  of  his  interlocutor  in  a  friendly  manner,  and 
makes  brief  remarks,  which  show  that  the  question  is 
perfectly  clear  to  him.  The  servant  announces  the 
arrival  of  a  village  schoolmaster,  who  has  come  from 
the  South.  A  gentleman  enters,  attired  in  Russian 
fashion,  with  sunburned  face  and  irresolute  manners. 
But  he  talks  calmly,  and  expresses  his  thoughts  clearly. 
A  conversation  arises  concerning  the  situation  of  the 
school  question  in  Russia,  which  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch 
takes  greatly  to  heart,  having  practical  knowledge 
thereof,  as  the  organizer  of  schools  in  Yasnaya  Polyana. 

A  new  visitor  makes  his  appearance,  well  known  for 
his  activity  in  country  matters.  He  has  a  whole  budget 
of  news,  touching  favorable  enterprises  in  the  realm  of 
agriculture. 

A  spirited  conversation  begins  about  communal  farm- 
ing, about  agricultural  workmen's  associations,  about 
intelligent  tillage.  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  feels  a  vivid 
sympathy  "  for  the  movement  in  the  country,"  but  con- 
siders the  occupation  of  agriculture  a  very  difficult 
problem  for  contemporary  educated  people. 

"  That  is  so  plain,"  said  he ;  "  the  peasant  fixes  the 
price  of  grain.  That  means  that  one  must  reduce  one's 
budget  and  the  cost  of  production  to  his  rule ;  that  is  to 
say,  one  must  also  limit  one's  wants  as  the  peasant  has 
limited  them.  But  is  that  easy  for  the  contemporary 
man,  who  is  weak  and  incapable  of  tenacious  physical 
toil  ?  There  is  the  American,  who,  when  he  hires  a  field 


30       HOW   COUNT   L.  N.  TOLSTOY 

laborer,  first  of  all  steps  up  and  feels  the  man's  muscles. 
'  Good  for  nothing,'  he  says,  and  walks  off.  And,  in 
truth,  without  firm  muscles,  what  sort  of  workman  is 
he  ? " 

New  visitors  make  their  appearance :  a  Moscow  finan- 
cier, then  a  lady  who  lives  in  England. 

A  conversation  begins  with  her  about  England,  about 
several  members  of  Parliament  with  whom  she  is  ac- 
quainted, and  about  English  Laborers'  Associations. 

A  student  and  a  scholar  in  the  Gymnasium  enter  the 
study.  The  Gymnasium  scholar  gives  Lyeff  Nikolae- 
vitch a  new  collection  of  poems  by  a  new  poetess,  con- 
cerning whose  writings  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  has  heard  a 
great  deal,  and  has  desired  to  make  acquaintance  with 
them. 

He  thanks  the  Gymnasium  lad,  opens  the  book,  reads 
a  few  lines,  and  laughs. 

"  Listen,  for  heaven's  sake ! "  he  says,  moving  his 
seat  closer  to  the  light,  and  he  reads  aloud  a  very  poeti- 
cal poem. 

But  at  the  end  he  pauses,  and  in  perplexity  delivers 
the  last  line,  which  is  distinguished  by  a  pungently 
erotic  character. 

"Why  was  not  she  ashamed  to  print  that?"  asks 
Lyeff  Nikolaevitch,  in  amazement;  then  he  turns  over 
a  few  leaves,  again  reads  aloud  a  poem,  and  again  it 
ends  with  an  erotic  aroma.  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  closes 
the  book  in  despair,  and  pushes  it  away  from  him. 

The  conversation  passes  on  to  contemporary  literature. 

L.  N.  Tolstoy  reads  a  very  great  deal,  and  in  this 
respect  follows  the  rule  which  Auguste  Comte  called 
hygiene  of  the  brain.  In  addition  to  the  Russian  and 
foreign  journals  and  newspapers  which  he  receives,  his 
friends  send  him  everything  of  the  slightest  importance 
which  makes  its  appearance  in  print ;  in  consequence  of 
which,  a  conversation  with  L.  N.  Tolstoy  on  literature 
always  assumes  the  most  interesting  character;  one 
learns  of  many  novelties  with  which  one  would  never 
have  succeeded  in  making  acquaintance  to  the  end  of 
one's  days. 


LIVES  AND  WORKS  31 

Sometimes  the  character  of  the  visitors  is  even  more 
varied;  side  by  side  with  a  magister  of  philosophy 
sits  a  sunburned  peasant,  who  has  come  from  the  South 
and  who  good-naturedly  addresses  L.  N.  Tolstoy  as 
grandfather. 

Lyeff  Nikolaevitch's  unconstraint  and  simplicity  pre- 
vent these  motley  assemblies  from  shocking  any  one. 
Here  every  one  feels  himself  at  home,  and,  at  the  same 
time,  close  to  the  others,  in  consequence  of  which  L.  N. 
Tolstoy's  Moscow  study  presents  a  sort  of  All-Russia 
junction,  through  which  have  passed,  during  the  last 
ten  years,  not  a  few  intellectual  and  artistic  treasures. 


32       HOW   COUNT    L.  N.  TOLSTOY 


CHAPTER  VI 

ALTHOUGH  L.  N.  Tolstoy  loves  friendly  conversation, 
and  friendly  sociability  with  people,  nevertheless  he 
cherishes  an  almost  unhealthy  antipathy  to  everything 
ceremonial,  populous,  or  crowded,  in  consequence  of 
which  he  very  rarely  makes  his  appearance  in  social 
gatherings,  and  obstinately  keeps  away  from  all  festivi- 
ties, jubilees,  and  other  thronged  places,  confining  him- 
self to  attending  a  few  public  lectures  which  possess 
some  special  interest. 

Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  visits  the  theater  also  very  seldom, 
and  always  watches  his  chance  to  slip  in  unperceived, 
and  to  occupy  a  seat  where  he  can  be  seen  as  little  as 
possible. 

In  the  winter  of  1895,  when  he  began  his  work  on 
Art,  he  happened,  for  a  time,  to  get  into  the  theatrical 
zone  and  visited  the  theaters,  talked  with  the  actors, 
and  even  read  his  play,  The  Power  of  Darkness,  to  the 
artists  of  the  Little  Theater,  in  the  theater  office.  ... 

But  a  year  later  he  looked  upon  this  as  a  mistaken 
enthusiasm,  and  when  an  acquaintance  began  to  entice 
Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  with  a  new  opera,  he  said,  with  a 
smile :  — 

"  No,  no !  I  only  kicked  over  the  traces  in  that  way 
last  year,  but  now  I  have  sunk  to  the  bottom  for  good." 

His  visits  to  the  theater  did  not  satisfy  him. 

I  happened  to  see  him  after  a  representation  of  King 
Lear.  He  was  dissatisfied  with  the  manner  in  which  he 
had  spent  his  evening,  and  said :  — 

"  I  gazed  at  those  grimaces  and  thought :  but  war 
must  be  waged  against  all  this.  How  much  routine 
there  is  in  it  which  overwhelms  the  truth.  Ruskin  said 
that  Shakespeare  had  no  villains.  What  nonsense! 
Edmund  is  a  thorough,  conventional  villain." 


LIVES  AND   WORKS  33 

Neither  did  The  Power  of  Darkness  satisfy  him  on  the 
stage. 

"  In  the  case  whence  I  borrowed  that  theme,"  said  he, 
"  Nikita,  in  a  fit  of  delirium,  kills  his  wife  with  a  cart- 
shaft,  and  only  then  does  the  moral  rupture  take  place 
within  him.  It  seemed  to  me  that  that  would  be  excess- 
ive. But  my  fears  were  vain ;  I  ought  to  have  intro- 
duced that  scene." 

"And  how  did  the  acting  of  it  please  you?"  I 
asked. 

"That  was  all  right.  Only  the  actors  make  great 
efforts  to  be  natural.  That  should  not  be  done.  The 
performers  ought  to  conceal  their  intentions.  Generally, 
as  soon  as  you  perceive  that  they  are  trying  to  work  on 
your  feelings  or  to  make  you  laugh,  you  immediately 
begin  to  experience  the  diametrically  opposite  sentiment. 
And  the  characters  in  The  Power  of  Darkness  are  not  in 
the  least  the  people  I  thought  them  to  be.  Nikita  is  not 
a  fop,  he  is  not  a  dashing  young  sprig,  but  merely  an 
offshoot  of  city  culture.  Akim  does  not  '  discourse ' 
when  he  talks ;  he  makes  great  efforts,  he  hurries  and 
perspires  with  the  exertion  of  thought.  He  ought  to  be 
nervous  and  restless." 

A  little  later,  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  again  spoke  about 
King  Lear,  and,  as  he  felt  hungry,  he  turned  to  his 
daughters :  — 

"  Regan !  Goneril !  is  your  old  father  to  have  any 
oatmeal  porridge  to-day  ? " 

Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  is  not  very  enthusiastic  over  Shake- 
speare in  general,  and,  as  it  seems  to  me,  he  is  insuffi- 
ciently acquainted  with  him  in  detail.  He  never  quotes 
him  and  does  not  reenforce  his  speech  with  the  winged 
thoughts  in  which  Shakespeare  is  so  rich.  But,  for  ex- 
ample, Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  quite  frequently  introduces, 
in  German,  different  poetical  fragments  from  Goethe, 
although,  at  the  same  time,  he  does  not  belong  to  the 
latter' s  warm  admirers,  but  thoroughly  shares  Heine's 
opinion,  that  Goethe  is  a  great  man  in  a  silken  coat. 
With  Heine's  works  L.  N.  made  real  acquaintance 
only  of  late,  and  was  much  carried  away  with  them. 


34       HOW   COUNT    L.  N.  TOLSTOY 

In  the  midst  of  the  most  vehement  conversation,  he 
sometimes  pauses  and,  raising  his  head,  he  recites  in  a 
masterly  manner,  in  German,  one  of  Heine's  poems 
which  bears  upon  the  conversation.  The  poem  en- 
titled, Lass  die  frommen  Hypotesen,  pleases  him  in 
particular. 

Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  has  been  obliged  to  refresh  his 
memory  of  Schiller  of  late  also.  The  work  of  Schiller 
which  pleases  him  most  is  The  Robbers,  because  of  its 
youthful,  fervent  language. 

"Don  Carlos  is  not  the  same,"  he  says.  "But  the 
principal  thing  which  repels  me  in  Don  Carlos  is  that 
which  I  never  can  endure,  —  the  exclusive  nature  of  the 
situation.  In  my  opinion,  it  is  exactly  the  same  as  if  one 
were  to  take  the  Siamese  Twins  for  heroes." 

Until  the  other  day,  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  knew  noth- 
ing whatever  about  Bernier,  and  read  several  of  his 
articles  with  great  satisfaction. 

But,  on  the  other  hand,  in  the  realm  of  philosophical 
literature  he  is  extremely  well  read,  and,  in  that  direc- 
tion, it  is  hardly  probable  that  any  of  the  Russian 
writers  could  be  placed  on  a  level  with  him. 

An  extraordinary  thing  happened  with  Lyeff  Niko- 
laevitch's  collection  of  Western  writers.  When  he  was 
abroad,  in  the  '5o's,  he  purchased  the  works  of  the 
prominent  European  authors  in  the  original  languages. 

"  But,  alas  !  "  he  said,  with  a  comic  sigh,  "  they  took 
all  those  books  away  from  me  on  the  frontier  for  ex- 
amination, and  —  they  are  still  examining  them." 

Among  Lyeff  Tolstoy's  favorite  thinkers  and  writers 
are :  Socrates,  Epictetus,  Pascal,  J.  J.  Rousseau,  Victor 
Hugo,  Dickens,  and  so  forth.  J.  J.  Rousseau  has  had 
more  influence  than  all  the  rest  on  his  spiritual  organi- 
zation. 

"  I  deified  Rousseau  to  such  a  degree,"  said  Lyeff 
Nikolaevitch  one  day,  "that,  at  one  time,  I  wished  to 
have  his  portrait  inserted  in  a  locket  and  wear  it  on 
my  breast  instead  of  a  holy  picture  (ikona)" 

Nevertheless,  it  was  not  J.  J.  Rousseau,  but  Sterne, 
who  imparted  to  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  his  first  impulse 


LIVES  AND  WORKS  35 

to  write.  He  once  confessed  as  much  to  a  Gymnasium 
scholar,  who  asked  him  at  what  age  he  began  to  write. 
Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  smiled,  and  said :  — 

"  And  you  are  afraid  that  you  are  too  old  ?  My  first 
work  was  written  at  the  age  of  sixteen.  It  was  a  philo- 
sophical treatise  after  the  manner  of  Sterne." 


HOW   COUNT   L.  N.  TOLSTOY 


CHAPTER  VII 

AMONG  Russian  writers,  Lermontoff  exercised  the 
greatest  influence  on  L.  N.  Tolstoy.  To  this  day  he 
cherishes  a  warm  feeling  for  him,  and  values  in  him 
that  quality  which  he  calls  seeking.  Bereft  of  that 
quality,  he  considers  the  talent  of  a  writer  incom- 
plete and,  as  it  were,  defective.  The  role  of  the  writer, 
in  his  opinion,  should  include  two  indispensable  prop- 
erties:  artistic  talent  and  understanding, — that  is  to 
say,  the  purified  side  of  mind,  which  is  capable  of 
penetrating  into  the  actuality  of  phenomena  and  giv- 
ing the  loftiest  view  of  the  world  of  its  time. 

Among  the  Russian  contemporaries  of  L.  N.  Tolstoy, 
D.  Grigorovitch  had  some  influence  upon  his  literary 
formation.  But  L.  N.  Tolstoy  is  indebted  for  literary 
development  and  tendency  more  than  to  any  one  else 
to  his  elder  brother,  Nikolai,  —  a  man  with  a  brilliant, 
noble,  and  finely  cultured  heart. 

L.  N.  Tolstoy  has  always  regarded  Turgeneff  as  a 
leading  man,  well  educated  and  very  talented ;  but  his 
productions  in  the  realm  of  belles-lettres,  with  the  ex- 
ception of  The  Diary  of  a  Sportsman,  never  evoked 
rapture  in  L.  N.,  and,  of  course,  he  could  not  nourish 
himself  on  them. 

A  very  characteristic  episode  once  occurred  with  him, 
which  may  have  served,  in  part,  to  intensify  the  shadow 
which  lay  between  Turgeneff  and  L.  Tolstoy. 

In  1860  L.  Tolstoy  went  to  visit  Turgeneff  in  the 
country.  The  latter,  just  at  that  time,  had  completed 
his  romance  Fathers  and  Children,  and  attributed  great 
importance  to  his  new  work,  expressing  a  desire  to  learn 
L.  N.  Tolstoy's  opinion  of  it.  The  latter  took  the  manu- 
script, lay  down  with  it  on  the  divan  in  the  study,  and 
began  to  read.  But  the  romance  appeared  to  him  so 


LIVES  AND  WORKS  37 

artificially  constructed  and  so  insignificant  in  contents 
that  he  could  not  overcome  the  weariness  which  seized 
upon  him,  and  —  he  fell  asleep. 

"  I  awoke,"  he  relates,  "  with  a  queer  sort  of  sensa- 
tion, and  when  I  opened  my  eyes  I  beheld  Turgeneff's 
gigantic  figure  retiring  from  the  study." 

All  that  day  something  seemed  to  be  suspended 
between  them. 

But  Tolstoy  esteems  Turgeneff  very  highly  as  the 
author  of  The  Diary  of  a  Sportsman,  and  considers  his 
descriptions  of  nature  as  not  only  superb,  but  as  un- 
attainable by  any  other  writer  whomsoever. 

L.  N.  Tolstoy  treats  Dostoevsky  as  an  artist  with 
profound  respect,  and  considers  some  of  his  things  — 
especially  Crime  and  Punishment  —  as  wonderful.  But 
there  is  much  in  Dostoevsky  that  repels  him.  Some 
writers  L.  N.  Tolstoy  does  nqt  recognize  at  all,  as  it 
were.  In  this  category  belong  Melnikoff-Petchersky, 
Pomyalovsky,  Ryeschetnikoff,  and  a  number  of  the 
contemporary  literary  workers.  Among  the  popular 
writers,  L.  N.  Tolstoy  always  speaks  with  animation 
of  Slyeptzoff. 

It  is  a  fact  not  devoid  of  interest  that  L.  N.  Tolstoy 
gave  to  Turgeneff  the  idea  of  the  little  literary  sketches 
which  afterward  appeared  in  print  under  the  title  of 
Poems  in  Prose.  He  himself  tried  his  powers  in  that 
style  of  writing,  but  made  a  failure  of  it.  He  once 
wrote  a  little  thing  of  that  sort,  and  sent  it  to  L  Aksa- 
koff's  journal,  Russia,  over  the  name  of  an  old  woman, 
Natalya  Petrovna,  who  lived  with  the  Tolstoys.  But 
shortly  afterward  I.  Aksakoff  returned  the  manuscript, 
with  a  polite  excuse  that  he  could  not  print  it  because 
the  author  was,  as  yet,  insufficiently  skilled  in  the  art 
of  expression. 

Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  experienced  the  genuine  writer's 
fever  while  he  was  in  the  Caucasus,  —  that  is  to  say, 
when  he  was  twenty-one  years  of  age.  Dissatisfied  with 
the  idle  life  which  he  was  leading  in  the  circle  of  his 
comrades,  and  pining  with  homesickness  for  his  native 
land,  L.  N.  began  to  transport  himself  in  imagination 


38       HOW   COUNT   L.  N.  TOLSTOY 

to  familiar  spots.  This  afforded  him  such  lofty  pleas- 
ure that  he  decided  to  fix  some  recollections  on  paper, 
and  he  began  to  jot  them  down.  Thus  Childhood  was 
composed.  Dreams  of  literary  glory  arose  later  on. 
As  he  obeyed  in  his  creative  work  the  imperative  ne- 
cessity which  lay  in  his  soul,  so  he  drew  forth  from 
his  soul  that  peculiar  tone  with  which  this  remarkable 
work  is  permeated.  He  no  longer  places  any  special 
value  on  it. 

Once  upon  a  time,  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  was  driving, 
with  an  acquaintance  of  his,  in  a  public  cab,  in  Moscow. 
The  driver  recognized  him,  and,  turning  round,  said :  — 

"  I  have  read  a  great  many  of  your  books,  your  Illus- 
trious Highness !  I  have  read  The  Prisoners  of  the 
Caucasus,  I  have  read  Master  and  Workman ;  I  have 
also  read  about  merchant  Aksenoff  {God  sees  the  truth 
but  will  not  speedily  reveal  it).  Everything  gave  me 
great  pleasure.  But  I  have  not  been  able,  by  any 
means,  to  get  your  book  Childhood  and  Boyhood.  They 
say  it  is  a  go-o-od  book !  " 

L.  N.  Tolstoy  chatted  with  the  cabman  and  said  to 
him :  — 

"  If  you  are  so  fond  of  reading,  come  to  me,  and  I 
will  give  you  books." 

"Will  you  give  me  Childhood  and  Boyhood?"  asked 
the  cabman,  with  animation. 

"  No,  that  is  a  frivolous  little  book.  In  my  youth  I 
wrote  a  great  deal  of  nonsense.  I  will  give  you  Walk 
in  the  Light  while  there  is  Light.  That  is  far  better 
than  Childhood  and  Boyhood." 

But  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch's  companion  said  to  the  cab- 
man :  — 

"  Nevertheless,  do  you  get  and  read  Childhood  and 
Boyhood.  Don't  believe  that  it  is  a  'frivolous'  book. 
It 's  a  go-o-od  little  book,  brother ! " 

Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  made  no  reply. 

But,  on  the  following  day,  when  the  cabman  came  to 
him  for  books,  he  did  not  give  him  Childhood  and  Boy- 
hood, nevertheless,  as  though  he  did  not  wish  to  take 
that  sin  upon  his  soul. 


LIVES  AND  WORKS  39 

But  we  cannot  regard  Childhood  and  Boyhood  in  that 
light.  That  work  possesses,  in  our  eyes,  a  double  value, 
—  both  from  the  artistic  standpoint  and  from  the  his- 
torical-literary standpoint.  It  gave  an  impetus  to  the 
genius  of  Lyeff  Tolstoy,  and,  having  secured  for  him 
a  conspicuous  success  in  the  literary  world,  helped  him 
to  effect  the  change  from  the  military  to  the  literary 
career. 

And  with  what  sympathy,  nervously  straining  to 
youthful  conceit,  his  first  steps  in  literature  were 
welcomed,  may  be  judged  from  the  fact  that,  in  the 
briefest  possible  time,  L.  Tolstoy  was  reckoned  among 
the  vanguard  of  literature ;  and,  both  in  the  illustrations 
and  the  caricatures  of  that  period,  he  was  depicted,  as 
an  equal  among  equals,  with  the  most  famous  writers 
of  the  day :  Gontcharoff,  Turgeneff,  Nekrasoff,  Ostrov- 
sky,  and  so  forth. 

The  remarkable  charm  of  simplicity  and  sincerity  in 
Childhood  and  Boyhood  captivated  every  one. 

In  his  Youth  there  is  a  poetical  chapter,  in  which 
L.  N.  describes  how  once,  early  in  the  morning,  he  gave 
himself  up  to  the  contemplation  of  his  surroundings, 
and  "tears,  as  of  some  unsatisfied  but  agitating  joy," 
involuntarily  sprang  to  his  eyes.  Once  I  told  him  of 
what  I  always  thought  when  I  read  that  chapter.  He 
listened  to  me,  and,  after  a  considerable  pause,  he  de- 
clared, as  though  recalling  something,  that  when  he  wrote 
that  chapter,  he  had  experienced  precisely  those  thoughts 
which  I  had  mentioned.  Behold  the  great  secret  of  art, 
which  knows  no  limits,  either  of  time  or  of  space. 

The  majority  of  the  persons  introduced  in  Childhood 
and  Boyhood,  and  in  Youth,  are  taken  directly  from  life. 
Only,  many  people  are  mistaken  when  they  think  that 
the  father  introduced  by  L.  N.  Tolstoy  in  Childhood 
and  Boyhood  is  his  own  father.  He  is  Islenieff,  Coun- 
tess Sophia  Andreevna's  grandfather,  a  neighbor  of  the 
Tolstoys  on  his  estate.  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch's  grand- 
father, Count  Ilya  Andreevitch  Tolstoy,  was  the  spend- 
thrift of  his  day,  and  squandered,  in  addition  to  his  own 
very  considerable  property,  the  still  greater  property  of 


40       HOW   COUNT   L.  N.  TOLSTOY 

his  wife,  by  birth  a  Princess  Gortchakoff .  How  prodi- 
gal he  was  may  be  judged  from  the  fact  that  he  did  not 
have  his  linen  washed  in  Russia,  but  sent  it,  by  special 
wagons,  to  Holland. 

His  son  Nikolai  (the  father  of  L.  N.  Tolstoy),  on 
the  contrary,  was  distinguished  for  his  persistent,  toil- 
some perseverance.  When,  after  his  father's  death,  he 
found  himself  without  means,  he  assumed  all  his  father's 
liabilities,  and,  by  degrees,  satisfied  all  the  creditors, 
though  he  had  on  his  hands  various  relatives,  among 
whom  was  Mme.  T.  A.  Ergoloff,  who  afterward  reared 
Lyeff  Nikolaevitch. 


COUNT  TOLSTOY   DURING  THE  WORKING   SEASON 

IN   THE   COUNTRY 
FROM  A  SKETCH  BY  L.-  PASTERNAK 


LL(! 


1 


LIVES  AND  WORKS  4i 


CHAPTER  VIII 

IN  the  family  chronicles  of  the  Counts  Tolstoy,  there 
is  one  very  interesting  episode.  The  father  of  Lyeff 
Nikolaevitch,  in  1813,  after  the  siege  of  Erfurt,  was 
sent  to  St.  Petersburg  with  despatches,  and  on  his  way 
back,  in  the  hamlet  of  Saint  Obi,  he  was  taken  prisoner 
together  with  his  serf -orderly.  The  latter,  without  be- 
ing observed,  concealed  all  his  master's  money  in  his 
boot,  and  for  a  period  of  several  months,  during  which 
they  were  imprisoned,  he  never  once  took  off  his  boots 
and  foot-cloths.  His  leg  became  chafed,  and  a  sore  was 
formed,  but  he  never  even  showed,  during  all  that  time, 
that  he  was  suffering.  But,  after  the  entry  into  Paris, 
Count  Nikolai  Hitch  was  able  to  live  without  feeling 
the  want  of  anything,  and  he  always  held  the  faithful 
orderly  in  kindly  memory. 

Thus  that  profound  feeling  which  L.  Tolstoy  cher- 
ishes for  the  spiritual  powers  of  the  Russian  man  has 
in  it,  as  it  were,  hereditary  roots.  And  these  roots  have, 
gradually,  descended  deeper  within  him  under  the  in- 
fluence of  acquaintance  with  the  people,  —  now  in  the 
character  of  an  active  landowner  and  mediator  of  the 
peace,  again  in  the  character  of  village  schoolmaster,, 
curiously  inquiring  into  every  detail  of  his  Yasnaya 
Polyana  school,  and  again,  in  conclusion,  through  free 
communion  with  the  common  people  during  the  peri- 
ods of  field  labors  and  journeys  on  foot  in  company. 
Thanks  to  his  attire  and  to  his  ease  of  manner,  Lyeff 
Nikolaevitch  everywhere  succeeds  in  establishing  free 
relations  with  the  common  people,  and  hears  from  them 
their  entirely  unvarnished  opinions. 

One  day  he  was  walking  with  a  friend  of  his  from 
Moscow  to  Tula.  On  the  road,  near  a  heap  of  rubbish, 
they  saw  a  peasant,  who  was  angrily  breaking  off  the 


42       HOW   COUNT   L.  N.  TOLSTOY 

heel  of  his  boot  with  a  stone,  and  swearing  vigorously. 
He  had  chafed  his  heel  with  his  boot,  and  this  had 
greatly  enraged  him.  The  wayfarers  approached  him, 
entered  into  conversation  with  him,  and  then  they  pro- 
ceeded on  their  way  together.  The  workman  had  a 
dissatisfied  air,  and  he  kept  complaining  of  the  injustice 
of  people :  he  had  been  working  in  a  factory,  but  the 
owner  had  not  paid  him  as  much  as  he  should  "for 
casting."  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  continued  to  listen  to  the 
workman,  and  then  said  seriously :  — 

"There's  something  wrong  about  that,  Ivan  Se- 
myonoff ! " 

"  May  God  strike  me  dead,  if  everything  is  not  as  I 
am  telling  you !  "  returned  Ivan  Semyonoff,  hotly ;  and, 
in  confirmation  of  his  words,  he  showed  Lyeff  Nikolae- 
vitch a  receipt  from  the  factory. 

Thus  they  journeyed  for  about  three  days,  halting  at 
posting-stations  for  rest,  and  already  chatting  like  old 
friends.  Ivan  Semyonoff  inquired,  with  curiosity,  one 
day  when  he  found  himself  alone  with  Lyeff  Nikolae- 
vitch's  companion :  — 

"  Say,  who  is  that  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch,  if  you  please  ? " 

"  Oh,  just  an  old  man.     Why  ? " 

"  He 's  a  divine  old  man ! " 

At  their  last  halting-place  the  travelers  drank  tea. 
Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  took  leave  of  Ivan  Semyonoff,  and 
said :  — 

"  How  well  it  was  that  God  led  us  to  make  acquain- 
tance, and  to  pass  our  time  together.  But  it  still  seems 
to  me,  Ivan  Semyonoff,  that  you  have  not  yet  told  us 
the  whole  truth  about  yourself." 

Tears  rose  to  Ivan  Semyonoff's  eyes. 

"  Forgive  me,  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch,  I  told  you  a  lie ; 
I  received  all  my  money  in  full  from  the  proprietor,  and 
drank  it  up,  accursed  man  that  I  am." 

On  another  occasion,  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  and  his  travel- 
ing companion  overtook  on  the  road  an  ailing  lad,  who 
was  very  weak,  and  they  took  him  with  them.  The 
mistress  of  the  posting-station,  when  she  saw  that  the 
lad  was  very  ill,  flew  into  a  rage,  and  screamed :  — 


LIVES  AND  WORKS  43 

"  Begone,  begone !  Why  have  you  brought  hither  a 
dead  man  ?  He  will  die  here." 

Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  remained  silent  for  a  little  while, 
then  said  gently  :  — 

"  This  lad  does  not  belong  to  us,  he  is  a  stranger.  We 
took  him  because  he  was  helpless.  Reflect  how  painful 
it  would  be  for  you  if  you  were  in  a  helpless  condition 
and  no  one  was  willing  to  help  you." 

The  mistress  softened,  received  the  travelers,  cared 
for  the  lad  in  a  motherly  way,  and  then  kept  repeating 
to  him :  — 

"  Here,  you  see,  kind  people  have  picked  you  up  and 
brought  you  hither.  And  if  there  were  no  kind  people 
—  if  there  were  no  kind  people  in  the  world,  what  would 
happen  then  ? " 

Free  and  frequent  intercourse  with  the  common  people 
has  enabled  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  to  accumulate  a  great 
hoard  of  knowledge  concerning  the  life  of  the  people, 
and  to  perfect  that  rich,  highly  colored  language  which 
renders  him  a  master  in  the  most  varied  realms  of 
thought  and  feeling. 

In  conversation  with  the  peasants  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch 
never  apes  their  tone,  but  bears  himself  simply  and 
seriously,  like  an  experienced,  clever  peasant,  who  knows 
all  the  shades  of  peasant  life.  He  knows  what  to  say 
and  to  whom,  and  how  to  get  hold  of  each  one. 

In  the  course  of  one  of  his  journeys,  he  entered  a  vil- 
lage posting-station  to  spend  the  night.  The  master  of 
the  station,  a  stubborn,  capricious  old  man,  flew  into  a 
rage  with  his  young  son  over  something  or  other,  and 
began  to  beat  him,  then  seized  him  by  the  hair,  and 
dragged  him  from  the  room.  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  began 
to  reason  with  the  peasant.  But  the  latter  got  angry 
and  paid  no  attention  to  him.  Then  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch 
said  to  him  reproachfully :  — 

"  Shame  on  you  !  Why,  even  a  wild  beast  would  not 
do  that  to  another  wild  beast.  And  you  call  yourself 
a  Christian.  Aren't  you  afraid  that  God  will  punish 
you?" 

This  stung  the  peasant,  and  he  shouted  wrathf  ully  :  — 


44       HOW   COUNT   L.  N.  TOLSTOY 

"So,  according  to  your  wise  head,  a  man  must  not 
teach  his  children  ? " 

"He  must  teach,  but  not  beat  them,"  said  Lyeff 
Nikolaevitch. 

"  And  do  you  know  what  Count  Aratchkeeff  said  ? " 
inquired  the  peasant,  in  a  malicious,  challenging  voice. 

"What?" 

"  Kill  nine  men,  but  teach  the  tenth  —  " 

Before  the  peasant  could  finish  his  sentence,  Lyeff 
Nikolaevitch  sprang  at  him  with  flaming  eyes,  and 
shouted :  — 

"  Don't  you  dare  to  talk  like  that !  God  is  not  in  you. 
And  you  must  know,  the  man  who  said  that  was  a  wild 
beast." 

And,  as  he  said  this,  there  was  something  in  his  face 
and  voice  before  which  the  rage  of  the  harsh  peasant 
was  instantly  extinguished. 

The  piercing  keenness  of  the  glance  with  which  Lyeff 
Nikolaevitch  sometimes  seems  to  bore  through  a  man 
and  to  reach  the  very  depths  of  his  soul,  often  renders 
a  lie  impossible  to  the  people  with  whom  he  is  talk- 
ing. 

A  tragic  event  occurred  at  Yasnaya  Polyana  in  1896 : 
the  coachman  found  a  dead  baby  in  the  pond.  The 
whole  Tolstoy  family  was  greatly  upset  at  this  occur- 
rence. One  of  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch' s  daughters  was 
overwhelmed,  in  particular,  because  she  was  almost  con- 
vinced that  the  dead  baby  belonged  to  a  cross-eyed 
widow,  who  had  concealed  her  pregnancy.  But  the 
widow  obstinately  spurned  the  accusation  brought  against 
her,  and  swore  that  she  was  innocent. 

Suspicions  against  other  people  began  to  circulate. 

Before  dinner,  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  betook  himself  to 
the  park,  in  order  to  have  a  little  stroll,  but  soon  re- 
turned with  a  weary  and  agitated  mien.  He  had  been 
in  the  village,  to  the  cross-eyed  widow's.  He  did  not 
argue  with  her  at  all,  but  merely  listened  attentively  to 
what  she  had  to  say,  and  then  remarked  :  — 

"  If  this  murder  is  not  the  work  of  your  hands,  then 
it  will  cause  you  no  suffering.  But  if  you  committed  it, 


LIVES  AND  WORKS  45 

you  must  feel  very  sad  now ;  so  sad  that  nothing  else  in 
this  life  can  ever  seem  painful  to  you." 

"  Oh,  what  a  weight  I  have  upon  my  heart  now,  as 
though  some  one  were  crushing  it  with  a  stone ! "  cried 
the  widow,  breaking  into  sobs,  and  she  frankly  con- 
fessed to  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  that  she  had  strangled  her 
baby,  and  thrown  jit  into  the  water.  That  is  why  he 
was  so  melancholy. 


46       HOW   COUNT   L.  N.  TOLSTOY 


CHAPTER  IX 

FAMILIARITY  with  the  life  of  the  Russian  people  could 
not  pass  over  such  a  sensitive  nature  as  that  of  L.  N. 
Tolstoy  without  leaving  traces.  With  his  powerfully 
developed  sense  of  human  dignity,  he  could  not  but 
suffer  painfully,  when  he  beheld  around  him  crying 
want  and  ignorance.  And  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  was  seized 
by  the  desire  to  alleviate,  if  only  in  a  small  degree,  the  lot 
of  his  common  people.  He  began  to  take  their  interests 
more  and  more  to  heart,  and,  at  last,  he  went  over  to 
popular  literature  for  the  people.  He  visited  the  night 
lodging-houses,  compiled  almanacs  for  the  people, 
primers  and  little  books  with  popular  expositions  con- 
cerning the  air,  the  work  of  the  sun,  and  so  forth,  and 
so  forth. 

This  was  not  a  sudden  leap  to  one  side,  but  a  delib- 
erate turn  into  a  path  which  he  had  previously  over- 
looked. 

To  use  his  own  words,  he  reminded  one  of  a  man 
who,  after  having  chosen  a  familiar  path,  turns  back. 
Everything  which  had  been  on  his  left  hand  is  now  on 
his  right,  and  everything  which  had  been  on  his  right 
hand  is  now  on  his  left. 

Though  enthusiastically  engrossed  in  1891,  by  a  work 
which  was  of  very  great  importance  to  him,  L.  N.  Tolstoy, 
nevertheless,  without  hesitation,  cast  it  aside,  cast  aside 
his  rooted  habits,  which  are  not  easily  discarded  at  his 
age,  and  went  off  for  several  months  to  the  famine  dis- 
trict, in  order  to  alleviate  the  lot  of  the  starving. 

By  his  own  personal  exertions,  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch 
founded  more  than  two  hundred  soup-kitchens,  travel- 
ing to  and  fro,  over  the  snow-drifts,  from  village  to  vil- 
lage, through  snow-storms  and  snapping  cold. 

Not  a  little  labor,  requiring  discretion,  tact,  energy,  and 


LIVES  AND  WORKS  47 

patience,  was  involved  in  the  establishment  of  each  of 
these  soup-kitchens.  It  was  necessary  to  keep  compli- 
cated accounts  concerning  the  organization,  the  receipt 
of  contributions,  the  assignment  of  provisions,  the  pro- 
curing and  despatch  of  various  materials. 

L.  N.  Tolstoy's  appeal  received  responses  from  every 
direction,  even  from  abroad.  Every  one  believed  that 
they  were  committing  their  contributions  to  trustworthy 
hands.  And  that  was  a  wonderful  time  so  far  as  the 
stirring  up  of  feelings  was  concerned,  and  still  awaits 
its  historian.  Yet,  nevertheless,  it  was  but  a  drop  in 
the  ocean  of  the  people's  need.  It  became  necessary  to 
refuse,  it  became  necessary  to  make  a  choice  among  the 
starving. 

L.  N.  Tolstoy,  with  his  inherent  energy,  introduced 
many  practical  novelties  into  the  enterprise  which  he 
organized,  inspiring  every  one  with  his  presence.  But, 
in  spite  of  all  his  case-hardened  endurance,  he  sometimes 
reached  such  a  state  of  fatigue  that  he  could  not,  with- 
out an  effort,  express  at  once  the  simplest  thought ;  he 
could  not,  on  the  spur  of  the  moment,  put  a  name  to  the 
thing  he  wanted. 

"  Tanya,"  he  said  to  his  eldest  daughter,  who  accom- 
panied him  and  shared  with  him  all  the  hardships  of  their 
new  life,  "  to-morrow,  without  fail,  we  must  send  —  " 

And  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch,  in  spite  of  his  unusually 
retentive  memory,  had  forgotten  what  must  be  sent  and 
whither  it  must  be  sent. 


48       HOW   COUNT   L.  N.  TOLSTOY 


CHAPTER  X 

L.  N.  TOLSTOY'S  love  for  the  common  people  began 
to  usurp,  and  still  usurps,  a  considerable  portion  of  his 
strength  and  time.  He  has  contracted  many  relations 
in  that  connection  which  it  is  no  longer  possible  to  break. 
It  is  impossible  to  refuse  to  see  a  peasant,  to  get  rid  of 
him  with  a  gift,  when  he  asks  to  have  a  petition  to  the 
court  written  for  him.  It  is  impossible  to  put  off  a 
woman  with  alms,  when  her  husband  dies  and  the  grain 
is  not  harvested.  So  L.  N.  Tolstoy  writes  the  petition 
for  the  peasant  man,  and  aids  the  mourning  peasant 
woman  to  harvest  the  grain  in  the  working  season, 
patiently  enduring  in  the  process  the  grievous  pain  in 
his  leg  caused  by  an  injury  from  a  cart-wheel,  as  the 
orderly  endured  with  patience  the  no  less  grievous  pain 
for  the  love  of  his  fellow-man. 

But  the  pain  from  the  contusion  keeps  increasing. 
Countess  Sophia  Andreevna  goes  to  Moscow,  and,  with- 
out Lyeff  Nikolaevitch's  knowledge,  brings  back  a  phy- 
sician, who  declares  that  if  one  day  more  had  been 
allowed  to  elapse,  a  catastrophe  would  have  ensued. 
Lyeff  Nikolaevitch's  temperature  has  already  risen  to 
40°  (R6au.).  He  was  obliged  to  go  to  bed,  and  remain 
there  for  several  weeks,  which  gave  the  world  The 
Power  of  Darkness. 

The  greater  part  of  that  piece  was  dictated  by  Lyeff 
Nikolaevitch,  and  occupied  several  weeks.  None  of  his 
works  came  so  easily  to  him,  because  he  had  already  pre- 
pared himself  for  his  task  by  laboring  in  the  fields,  and 
chatting  with  the  peasants. 

And  to  demand  that  he  shall  occupy  himself  exclusively 
with  polite  literature  is  equivalent  to  demanding  from 
him  the  renunciation  of  his  personality  and  the  needs  of 
his  soul. 


LIVES  AND  WORKS  49 

And  it  is  incomprehensible  how  so  sensitive  and  cul- 
tivated a  man  as  Turgeneff  failed  to  understand  that 
inward  fermentation  which  L.  N.  Tolstoy  was  passing 
through,  and  could  seriously  think  that  the  author  of 
War  and  Peace  could  cease  to  live  with  the  artistic 
images,  whose  production  constitutes  for  the  true  artist 
as  unconquerable  a  necessity  as  is  blossoming  for  a 
plant. 

And  Lyeff  Tolstoy  has  never  subdued  in  himself  the 
author,  and  has  not  withered  up  that  spiritual  condition 
which  is  called  inspiration.  On  the  contrary,  under  all 
conditions,  the  thirst  for  creation  has  always,  as  it  were, 
smoldered  within  him.  And  the  only  one  of  the  Rus- 
sian men  of  action  with  whom  he  can  be  compared,  so 
far  as  this  unquenchable  thirst  is  concerned,  is  Anton 
Rubinstein. 

While  returning  home  one  night  last  year,  in  Moscow, 
with  one  of  his  friends,  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  suddenly 
came  to  a  halt,  and,  inhaling  the  air  with  avidity,  he 
exclaimed  passionately :  — 

"  Heavens,  how  I  want  to  write !  My  brain  is  seeth- 
ing with  images." 

"  Then  why  this  delay,  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  ? "  inquired 
his  companion. 

"  Time  is  lacking.  I  have  work  for  a  hundred  years, 
and  I  have  but  three  days  to  live." 

"What  do  you  mean,  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch?" 

"  Well,  a  few  months  longer.  In  any  case,  not  long. 
And  in  these  remaining  days  I  want  to  say  something 
fine.  Perhaps  God  will  graciously  permit  me  not  to 
live  out  my  allotted  time  in  vain,  but  to  do  something 
worthy  toward  the  end  of  my  days.  And  there  is  so 
much  to  write  about !  They  say  that  all  the  interesting 
themes  are  exhausted.  That  is  not  true.  Here,  for 
instance  —  " 

And  he  began  to  unfold  a  theme  which  dealt  with 
one  side  of  family  relations,  with  which,  as  a  matter  of 
fact,  no  one  has  as  yet  dealt  in  literature. 

"  There  is  still  another  subject  which  greatly  interests 
me,"  continued  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  with  animation:  "it 


50       HOW   COUNT    L.  N.  TOLSTOY 

is  the  intimate  union  of  various  spiritual  qualities  in  one 
and  the  same  man.  The  man,  who  is,  in  reality,  very 
clever,  keen,  and  noble,  is  at  the  same  time  very  narrow, 
petty,  and  insignificant.  There  is  another  interesting 
subject,  which  concerns  the  characters  of  the  mind.  As 
the  characters  of  the  passions  are,  so  are  also  the  char- 
acters of  the  mind.  One  man  has  a  very  vast  mind,  but 
he  sees  things  only  under  a  certain  aspect.  And  things 
which  are  easily  comprehensible  for  a  smaller  mind  are 
unattainable  for  him.  Hence  proceed  the  various  sharp 
conflicts  in  social  life." 

Lyeff  Nikolaevitch's  companion  inquired  :  — 

"Have  you  begun  to  work  out  any  one  of  these 
themes  ? " 

"  No,  everything,  so  far,  is  merely  a  project  I  am 
occupied  with  other  work  at  present" 

A  few  days  after  this  conversation,  a  lady  inquired :  — 

"  Is  it  true,  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch,  that  you  are  engaged 
in  writing  a  novel  of  Caucasian  life,  in  which  one  of 
Schamyl's  companions  in  arms  figures  ? " 

"Yes,  yes,  I  am  writing.  I  am  writing  everything," 
replied  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch,  hastily  and  reluctantly.  Then 
he  added,  in  an  explanatory  tone :  "  I  say  seriously  that 
I  am  writing  everything.  You  ask  :  Am  I  writing  any 
sort  of  a  story  ?  I  am.  Am  not  I  writing  a  romance  ? 
I  am  writing  a  romance  also.  And  am  not  I  thinking 
of  writing  a  play  ?  I  am  also  writing  a  play.  I  am 
writing  everything." 

And,  in  reality,  he  is  always  writing,  and  writing  a 
great  deal. 

But  he  is  very  far  from  committing  to  print  every- 
thing he  writes.  He  is  very  exacting  toward  himself. 

In  1896  L.  N.  Tolstoy  completed  a  novel  over  which 
he  had  labored  long.  Those  who  had  heard  extracts 
from  this  novel  thought  that,  in  the  force  of  his  descrip- 
tion, our  famous  writer  had  taken  another  step  in  ad- 
vance, and  were  convinced  that,  within  a  short  time,  the 
novel  would  appear  in  print.  But  he  was  in  no  haste 
to  publish  his  new  work,  as  he  intended  to  labor  a  little 
more  upon  it. 


LIVES  AND   WORKS  51 

But  when  he  was  questioned,  lately,  about  the  belated 
novel,  he  shook  his  head,  and  said,  in  the  tone  which 
people  use  in  speaking  of  things  which  possess  no  inter- 
est for  them :  — 

"  No,  no,  I  am  done  with  that !  The  theme  is  not 
mine,  and  the  manner  is  of  the  routine  sort  which  I 
must  abandon." 

Lyeff  Nikolaevitch,  like  the  majority  of  writers,  bears 
himself  with  some  eagerness  toward  literary  themes. 
When  he  hears  a  characteristic  story,  he  immediately 
tries  it  on,  as  it  were,  and  admires  it  all  round,  like  a 
good  carpenter  inspecting  good,  dry  timber.  He  once 
told  us  about  an  interesting  law-case,  which  took  place 
in  the  Moscow  court-room.  When  he  had  finished  his 
story,  L.  N.  remarked :  — 

"  You  see,  there 's  a  regular  Maupassant  story,  ready- 
made  to  hand.  It  is  a  genuine  godsend  for  some  young 
writer.  However,  perhaps  I  shall  use  it  myself,"  he 
added  hastily,  as  though  afraid  that  some  one  would 
appropriate  the  interesting  subject.  Some  time  later, 
I  happened  to  hear  that  he  had  again  narrated  the 
same  episode,  and  I  was  struck  by  several  artistic  de- 
tails, which  had  already  crept  into  it  during  the  interval, 
from  the  artistic  laboratory  of  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch,  pos- 
sibly against  his  will. 

But  a  great  deal  is  required  before  any  theme  be- 
comes an  object  of  his  creative  powers.  First  of  all  it 
must  be  distinguished  by  novelty,  clearness,  and  inward 
worth.  Then,  the  side  of  life  embraced  must  be  well 
known  to  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  ;  he  does  not  like  to  write 
by  "  hearsay."  In  conclusion,  as  a  final  condition,  it  is 
indispensable  that  the  subject  shall  take  possession  of 
him,  as  a  cough  takes  possession  of  a  man.  Then  only 
can  he  set  to  work,  and  yield  himself  up  to  it  with  the 
enthusiasm  of  the  true  artist. 

"  What  a  splendid  hunt  we  had  to-day  after  that  gray 
hare !  "  he  said,  with  animation,  to  his  wife,  emerging 
from  his  study  after  work,  and  with  an  aspect  as  though 
he  really  had  been  engaged  in  a  successful  hunt  after 
a  gray  hare.  (The  hunter's  pulse  still  beats  in  L.  Tol- 


52       HOW   COUNT   L.  N.  TOLSTOY 

stoy,  but  he  suppresses  the  inclination  in  himself,  be- 
cause of  artistic  demands.) 

In  his  manner  of  working,  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  reminds 
one  of  the  old  painters.  Having  settled  upon  the  plan 
of  the  work,  and  collected  a  great  number  of  studies,  he 
first  makes  a  charcoal  sketch,  as  it  were,  and  writes 
rapidly,  without  thinking  of  particulars.  He  gives 
what  he  has  thus  written,  to  have  a  clean  copy  made, 
to  Countess  Sophia  Andreevna,  or  to  one  of  his  daugh- 
ters, or  to  some  one  of  his  friends  to  whom  this  work 
will  afford  pleasure. 

Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  usually  writes  on  quarto  sheets  of 
plain  paper,  of  an  inferior  quality,  in  a  large,  involved 
hand,  and  sometimes  covers  as  many  as  twenty  pages 
in  one  day,  which  makes  more  than  half  a  sheet  of 
printed  matter.  But  he  forms  no  fixed  habits  either  in 
regard  to  paper  or  pens,  and  when  one  of  the  commer- 
cial firms  hit  upon  the  idea  of  launching  upon  the 
world  the  Tolstoy  pen,  it  appeared  that  Lyeff  Nikolae- 
vitch had  no  opinion  on  that  matter.  He  works  chiefly 
in  the  morning,  between  nine  o'clock  and  three,  because 
he  regards  that  interval  as  the  very  best  for  work.  It 
is  almost  impossible  to  get  an  interview  with  him  at 
that  time,  if  Countess  Sophia  Andreevna  is  at  home. 
She  carefully  guards  his  working  hours,  and  one  may 
•say,  without  sinning,  that  she  would  even  refuse  to 
admit  a  king  to  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch,  if  the  king  would 
interfere  with  his  work.  In  this  respect,  it  is  not  likely 
that  any  other  Russian  author  has  had  so  faithful  a 
body-guard  as  has  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  in  the  person  of 
his  anxious  wife. 

But  they  differ  in  their  views  of  the  world.  He  repre- 
sents, as  it  were,  heaven  in  his  family,  and  she  represents 
the  earth. 

But  they  live  together  on  loving  terms.  She  cares  for 
him  like  an  indefatigable  nurse,  makes  his  clothes  with 
her  own  hands,  and  only  parts  from  him  for  the  briefest 
possible  time.  He  bears  himself  in  a  Christian  spirit 
toward  her  weaknesses,  and  highly  prizes  her  sincerity 
and  frankness. 


LIVES  AND  WORKS  53 


CHAPTER  XI 

IN  February,  1895,  the  Tolstoys'  youngest  son  died, 
seven-year-old  Vanetchka  (Johnny),  a  very  charming 
little  boy,  who,  in  some  degree,  resembled  his  father  in 
his  outward  appearance.  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  bore  him- 
self toward  this  painful  blow  with  Christian  resignation. 
Several  of  his  acquaintances  who  talked  with  him  during 
those  sad  days  did  not  even  learn  of  his  loss.  But 
Sophia  Andreevna  was  stupefied  with  her  grief,  and  bore 
it  with  difficulty.  Life  lost  its  interest  for  her,  and  she 
prayed  God  for  death.  During  this  sharp  crisis,  Lyeff 
Nikolaevitch  treated  her  with  that  peculiar  compassion 
and  delicacy  of  heart  which  are  so  captivating  in  him. 
Once,  it  even  seemed  to  me  that  he  was  not  sincere,  for 
the  sake  of  not  paining  Sophia  Andreevna.  This  is  the 
way  it  was. 

When  spring  approaches,  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  gener- 
ally makes  all  haste  to  leave  the  city  for  Yasnaya  Po- 
lyana.  He  does  not  like  the  city,  and  in  the  springtime 
he  feels  an  unconquerable  loathing  for  it.  But  in  the 
spring  of  1895  he  remained  until  June  in  Moscow,  for 
the  sake  of  his  grief-stricken  wife,  who  did  not  wish  to 
depart  for  the  country  until  the  boys  had  finished  their 
examinations.  At  the  end  of  May,  I  happened  to  call 
upon  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch.  He  looked  worn  out.  As  I 
was  aware  that  he  loves  the  country  in  spring,  I  said: — 

"  I  think  you  are  exhausted  here." 

At  that  moment  Sophia  Andreevna  entered  the  room. 

"  Not  in  the  least.  I  feel  capitally  here,"  exclaimed 
Lyeff  Nikolaevitch,  quickly  and  loudly. 

She  cast  a  grateful  glance  at  him,  and  said :  — 

"I  do  not  know  how  you  feel.  But  it  grieves  me 
deeply  that  you  should  be  living  so  late  in  Moscow  for 
my  sake  in  this  heat  and  turmoil." 

"  You  are  fretting  yourself  for  nothing.  I  feel  very 
well  here." 


54       HOW    COUNT    L.  N.  TOLSTOY 

But  perhaps  he  really  did  feel  very  well  at  that 
moment. 

When  the  French  writer  Richet  was  visiting  the  Tol- 
stoys, he  is  said  to  have  remarked  to  Sophia  Andreevna 
that  she  could  not  possibly  have  found  time  for  personal 
happiness  by  the  side  of  so  great  a  husband.  But  it 
seems  to  me  that  that  is  a  mere  phrase.  Within  the 
narrow  limits  of  human  happiness,  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch 
and  Sophia  Andreevna  have  been  happy  in  their  day, 
and  have  got  out  of  life,  if  not  all  that  they  might  have 
got,  at  any  rate,  a  very  great  deal.  He  has  given  her 
a  clever,  healthy,  faithful,  and  passionately  loving  hus- 
band. She,  in  the  very  prime  of  his  powers,  gave  him 
a  quiet  happiness,  untroubled  by  storms,  with  a  long 
series  of  domestic  joys,  which  were  afterward  reflected 
in  his  works.  And  the  future  historian  of  Russian  litera- 
ture can  hardly  pass  over  Countess  Sophia  Andreevna 
without  mention. 

Count  Sollogub,  during  one  of  his  visits  to  Yasnaya 
Polyana,  once  said  to  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  :  — 

"What  a  lucky  man  you  are,  my  dear  fellow!  Fate 
has  given  you  everything  that  one  could  even  dream :  a 
splendid  family,  a  charming,  loving  wife,  universal  fame, 
health  —  everything." 

"  But  that  is  not  because  Fate  is  particularly  partial  to 
me,"  replied  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch,  "but  because  I  have 
always  wished  only  for  that  which  God  has  sent  me. 
He  has  given  me  that  sort  of  a  wife,  and  I  am  satisfied 
with  her,  and  want  no  other." 

In  consequence  of  Countess  Sophia  Andreevna  hav- 
ing minutely  studied  her  husband's  habits  for  a  period 
of  many  years,  she  knows  as  soon  as  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch 
emerges  from  his  cabinet,  by  his  very  aspect,  how  his 
work  has  thriven,  in  what  frame  of  mind  he  is.  And  if 
it  is  necessary  to  copy  anything  for  him,  she  immediately 
lays  aside  all  her  own  affairs,  of  which  her  hands  are 
always  full ;  and  no  matter  what  happens  that  day,  at  a 
certain  hour,  she  will,  without  fail,  have  copied  legibly 
all  that  is  needed,  and  laid  it  on  his  writing-table. 


LIVES  AND  WORKS  55 


CHAPTER  XII 

AFTER  his  morning  labors  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  gener- 
ally goes  out  into  the  air,  and  if  he  is  in  Moscow,  he  be- 
takes himself  on  foot  into  the  city  and  visits  his  friends,  or 
rides  on  horseback,  or  on  his  bicycle,  according  to  the 
state  of  the  weather.  Muscular  exercise  in  the  open  air 
is,  for  him,  a  necessity,  whose  place  nothing  else  can 
take,  but  the  satisfaction  of  which  is,  sometimes,  allied 
with  some  risk,  and  causes  Sophia  Andreevna  many 
anxious  moments.  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  has  gone  off  on 
horseback,  or  on  his  bicycle,  and  has  promised  to  return 
at  a  certain  time.  Sophia  Andreevna  begins  to  get 
uneasy,  and  gloomy  thoughts  assail  her:  "At  Lyeff 
Nikolaevitch' s  age,  it  is  so  easy  to  fall  from  his  bicycle 
or  from  a  skittish  horse,  and  receive  fatal  injuries.  At 
his  time  of  life,  he  should  not  undertake  such  excursions, 
because  his  muscles  have  already  become  like  a  thread- 
bare fabric.  But  what  is  one  to  do  with  him  ?  Is  it 
possible  to  dissuade  him  from  anything  ? " 

Her  hearers,  in  part,  share  Sophia  Andreevna's  views, 
and  gradually  become  infected  with  alarm. 

But  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  enters,  as  usual,  with  fresh 
animation  after  his  trip,  and  the  clouds  instantly  vanish. 

Once,  something  in  the  nature  of  a  conspiracy  was 
concocted  against  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch's  riding  a  bicycle. 
A  woman  doctor  was  visiting  the  Tolstoys,  and  thought 
that  it  was  very  hazardous  for  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  to 
ride  thirty  versts  on  his  wheel.  It  so  happened  that, 
on  that  very  day,  an  English  illustrated  journal  had 
arrived  which  contained  an  article  about  the  injurious 
effects  of  bicycle  riding. 

It  was  decided  that  I,  as  though  by  accident,  should 
begin  a  conversation  on  bicycle  riding ;  the  woman  doc- 
tor was  to  back  me  up,  and  state  her  views  concerning 


56       HOW   COUNT   L.  N.  TOLSTOY 

the  wheel,  and  reenforce  them  by  quotations  from  the 
English  journal,  which  was  to  be  lying  open  there,  for 
greater  persuasiveness.  We  had  planned  everything 
very  craftily,  and  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  was  immediately 
to  tumble  into  the  nets  spread  for  him.  But  our  plot, 
like  the  majority  of  plots,  broke  down  ;  and,  principally, 
through  my  fault.  At  the  most  critical  moment,  when 
I  ought  to  have  made  my  sort  of  "  start,"  I  felt  ashamed, 
as  though  I  were  about  to  make  a  fool  of  the  man  whom 
I  deeply  respect  and  love,  and  I  maintained  an  obstinate 
silence,  paying  no  heed  to  the  signals.  Then  the 
woman  doctor  entered,  single-handed,  upon  the  execu- 
tion of  the  plot.  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  listened  to  her 
attentively,  and  entirely  agreed  with  her,  that  it  was  not 
right  to  abuse  bicycle  riding  ;  then,  probably  suspecting 
in  what  direction  the  "  last  deductions  of  experimental 
science  "  pointed,  he  said  that,  twenty  years  previously, 
Professor  Zakharin  had  strictly  forbidden  him  all  physi- 
cal exercise,  under  penalty  of  its  resulting  badly  for  him. 

"  But,"  added  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch,  "  the  result  would 
certainly  have  been  bad  for  me  long  ago,  if  I  had  obeyed 
Zakharin,  and  stopped  giving  my  muscles  the  work 
which  strengthens  me,  gives  me  sound  sleep,  a  spirited 
frame  of  mind,  and  has  made  me  like  the  horse  out  at 
grass.  Only  let  the  horse  rest,  and  feed  him,  and  he  is 
fit  for  work  again." 

And,  as  though  in  confirmation  of  the  justice  of  his 
views,  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch,  with  a  brisk,  youthful  step, 
went  off  to  his  study,  where  he  always  has  on  hand 
some  unfinished  work  which  must  be  completed  in 
haste. 


/-/ 


ea  nee,  HO  copea.ica.  Tor^a  OUT, 
ctcTb.  Ho  caHH  noKaiHVJiHct 

HaKoneuT,  BT,  xpeiia  pa3i»  OHT>  on 
ciajii  Ha  Kpafl  HXT>  a  CA^-iaBt  ycoie 
nonepeKi  CHHHH  .loma^ii.  IloJiexaei  xa 
rna  .*  HaoneT*  nepegHHyjx  Hory   sepe 


sa  O^HHT> 

HHRHTa    CT>    TtXT> 

MT>  canefi,  CHAP*-  HenoABHSHO.  Muc.ii 


yMepeu 

TO  Bpeufl,  Kor^a  OHT>  ycaaiBBajica  sa  ca 
/  norouy  qio  OHI  MHOFO  KBZTMW, 
ITO  Teiua  9Toro  xsaiHTi    ne  na 
OHI  y*e  (JyAen»  ne  BT>  CHJiaxi,  HOTOM] 
JIUMI.  KpoM-fe  Toro,  oAHa  nora  ero  ia 
ne  MYfljii  Ha  He3  6o.ibnioro 

P 


Facsimile  of  corrected  proof  frc 


IIICH)  H  XOTBJTb   BCI 

BCia.TL  ea  caHH  R  xoi'fejj'B  c*B  ca-1 
ero  TflzecTLK)  H  OH*B  onflit  otfop- 

Kl 

xaKT>,  ^xo  jiBPi  oproxowb  1^ 
nocyflyKa 
emm 


j--a< 


^ 

IT>» 


n 

t>    0    TOMl,    ^ITO    OHl  810X611.0 

i  BT>  9iy  HOIB,   npHinja    eMy    B-B 
MMB^XOTH  eMy  eme  61110  Teiuo, 
i   no    cyrpo6ani,  HO  OH^ 
,  a  ITO    corp1>BaTLca 
f  «ITO  «iyBCTBOBajn»  ceda  CJIJIIEO  ycia- 
canorb  ^cimia  H  OHT>  . 


)m  "  Master  and  Man  " 


LIVES  AND  WORKS  57 


CHAPTER  XIII 

WHEN  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch's  new  work,  cleanly  copied 
out,  makes  its  appearance  on  his  work-table,  it  is  sub- 
jected to  instant  remodeling.  But  again,  it  is  still  in 
the  nature  of  a  charcoal  sketch.  The  manuscript  is 
speedily  spotted  all  over  with  erasures  and  interpola- 
tions between  the  lines,  at  the  sides,  and  at  the  bottom, 
and  with  transfers  to  other  pages.  Whole  sentences 
are  replaced  by  others,  which,  like  flashes  of  lightning, 
sometimes  illuminate  the  image  presented  from  a  new 
point  of  view.  The  work,  cleanly  copied  out  for  the 
second  time,  suffers  the  same  fate.  The  same  thing 
happens  with  the  third.  Some  chapters  Lyeff  Nikolae- 
vitch  writes  over  more  than  half  a  score  of  times.  Mean- 
while, he  hardly  troubles  himself  at  all  about  the 
external  workmanship,  and  even  entertains  a  sort  of 
repugnance  to  everything  very  finely  finished  in  art. 

"Often,  all  that  that  results  in  is,  that  it  dries  up 
thought,  and  injures  the  impression,"  he  says. 

And,  arming  himself  more  and  more,  as  he  writes, 
with  his  recollections  and  with  new  information  concern- 
ing the  question  with  which  he  is  dealing,  Lyeff  Niko- 
laevitch  toils  doggedly,  searchingly,  and  persistently 
over  every  chapter,  taking  only  brief  breaks  for  rest, 
and,  generally,  resorting  to  the  laying  out  of  a  suit  at 
Patience  in  moments  of  perplexity. 

His  intense  seeking  after  inward  clearness  in  every 
hero  whom  he  depicts  constitutes,  at  that  time,  Lyeff 
Nikolaevitch's  chief  anxiety,  and  he  is  fond  of  saying  in 
this  connection,  that  gold  is  obtained  by  strenuous  sift- 
ing and  washing. 

Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  succeeds  in  dashing  off  only  very 
few  scenes  at  the  first  effort,  under  the  influence  of  vivid 
impressions.  In  that  manner  was  written  the  descrip- 


58       HOW   COUNT   L.  N.  TOLSTOY 

tion  of  the  horse-race  in  Anna  Karenina,  under  the  influ- 
ence of  Prince  Obolensky's  captivating  narration. 

As  the  rewriting  and  correction  proceed,  some  details 
stand  forth  more  clearly,  but  others  seem  to  withdraw 
farther  and  farther  into  the  background. 

When,  by  dint  of  intense  labor,  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch 
has  obtained  a  certain  degree  of  lucidity,  he  reads  his 
new  work  aloud  in  a  circle  of  people  intimately  con- 
nected with  him,  in  order  that  he  may  profit  by  their 
comments,  before  the  book  has  appeared  in  print 
When  he  had  completed  The  Power  of  Darkness,  he 
read  his  drama  to  the  peasants,  but  derived  very  few 
instructive  hints  from  that  reading.  In  the  most  touch- 
ing parts  of  the  drama,  which  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  can- 
not read  without  tears,  several  of  his  hearers  suddenly 
began  to  laugh,  and  chilled  the  reader. 

The  severest  critic  of  L.  N.  Tolstoy's  new  works  is, 
generally,  Countess  Sophia  Andreevna,  who  expresses 
her  opinion  with  her  characteristic  straightforwardness. 
Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  sometimes  agrees  with  her,  but 
sometimes  stoutly  defends  the  position  which  he  has 
taken  up. 

The  long-postponed  novel,  previously  mentioned,  was 
rejected  by  Sophia  Andreevna.  One  day,  as  we  were 
drinking  tea,  the  conversation  turned  on  Lyeff  Nikolae- 
vitch's  writings.  That  day  Sophia  Andreevna  had  the 
proofs  of  War  and  Peace  for  a  new  edition,  and  wore  a 
rather  weary  air.  One  of  the  guests  inquired  whether 
reading  the  proofs  of  War  and  Peace  gave  her  pleasure 
or  not. 

"  Some  passages,  yes,"  said  she ;  "  but  some  did  not 
please  me  formerly,  and  do  not  please  me  now." 

"  Which,  for  instance  ? " 

"Just  to-day  I  read  the  proofs  where  Pierre  Bezu- 
khoff,  when  taken  prisoner,  begins  to  laugh.  That  is 
forced.  One  cannot  laugh  at  such  a  moment." 

At  that  instant,  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  approached  the 
tea-table  and  asked  what  we  were  talking  about.  Sophia 
Andreevna  repeated  her  accusation,  with  precision. 

"Why  do  you  assert  positively,"  he  inquired,  "that 


LIVES  AND  WORKS  59 

it  is  impossible  to  laugh  at  such  moments  ?  Why,  to- 
day, I  was  reading  in  the  Archives,  about  the  Decem- 
brist Batenkoff,  who,  when  he  was  put  in  prison,  burst 
into  a  loud  laugh,  and  said :  '  You  are  locking  me  up 
because  of  my  ideas.  But  my  ideas  are  not  here  —  they 
are  roaming  about  in  freedom.'  Pierre  might  have 
laughed  in  exactly  the  same  way." 

"No,  that  is  false.  At  such  a  moment  it  is  impossi- 
ble to  laugh.  And  I  do  not  understand  how  you  can 
assert  such  a  thing." 

"  And  I  do  not  understand  how  you  can  fail  to  com- 
prehend that  it  is  impossible  to  reject  so  stubbornly  that 
which  you  do  not  understand." 

"  That  is  my  opinion." 

Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  put  an  end  to  the  dispute,  and 
after  the  lapse  of  a  few  minutes  he  had  imperceptibly 
banished  the  little  clouds  which  had  gathered  in  the  air. 

After  every  altercation,  and,  especially,  after  every  in- 
justice done  to  him,  a  strong  reaction  begins  within  him, 
and  he  passes  into  that  charming,  serene  frame  of  mind 
of  which  I  have  already  spoken.  It  is  opportune  to 
mention  here,  that  after  the  well-known  quarrel  between 
Turgeneff  and  L.  N.  Tolstoy  at  Fet-Schenschin's,  —  the 
quarrel  which  raised  the  question  of  a  duel,  and  con- 
cerning which  Turgeneff  himself  afterward  said  that 
he  behaved  like  a  naughty  little  boy,  —  Lyeff  Nikolae- 
vitch, of  his  own  initiative,  wrote  to  Turgeneff,  under 
the  influence  of  a  kindly  impulse,  a  conciliatory  letter. 
But  the  letter  was  not  transmitted  to  Turgeneff,  and 
their  strained  relations  continued  for  some  time  longer. 


60       HOW   COUNT   L.  N.  TOLSTOY 


CHAPTER  XIV 

As  soon  as  the  rumor  gets  into  circulation  that  Lyeff 
Tolstoy  has  finished  a  new  work,  men  and  women  ama- 
teurs begin  to  swoop  down  upon  him  from  all  quarters, 
with  requests  that  he  will  put  his  new  book  at  their  dis- 
posal, because  of  the  particular  circumstances  in  which 
they  find  themselves  placed.  And  he  generally  does 
give  his  new  book  to  some  one. 

But  his  labors  over  his  new  work  do  not  end  here. 
There  is  still  the  proof-reading,  which  usually  calls  forth 
in  L.  N.  Tolstoy  a  flood  of  intensified  activity.  During 
the  period  of  time  while  the  manuscript  has  been  in  the 
press,  so  many  events  have  occurred,  so  many  fresh 
observations  have  accumulated  which  illuminate  some 
sides  of  the  question  dealt  with  from  an  entirely  new 
point  of  view.  But  the  margins  of  the  proof-sheets  are 
so  narrow,  the  time  for  correction  is  so  short,  and  re- 
straining the  pressure  of  new  thoughts,  economizing 
every  possible  scrap  of  paper,  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  con- 
verts the  proof-sheets  into  a  closely  woven  net  of  correc- 
tions. The  same  thing  happens  to  the  second  proofs. 
And  it  may  be  said,  without  exaggeration,  that  if  Lyeff 
Nikolaevitch  were  to  have  ninety-nine  sets  of  proofs  for 
any  one  of  his  works,  the  ninety-ninth  proof  would  be 
speckled  with  corrections. 

The  sense  of  self-criticism  is  strongly  developed  in 
him,  and  he  always  perceives  his  mistakes  clearly  on 
the  following  day.  But  in  the  proof-sheets  his  mental 
sharp-sightedness  is  still  further  sharpened,  and  some 
of  the  chapters  come  out  altered  beyond  recognition. 

One  day,  when  the  subject  of  the  conversation  was 
intense  toil  over  mental  productions,  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch 
said :  — 

"  No  trifle  must  be  neglected  in  art,  because,  some- 


LIVES  AND  WORKS  61 

times,  some  half-torn-off  button  may  illuminate  a  certain 
side  of  the  life  of  a  given  person.  And  the  button  must 
be  depicted  without  fail.  But  all  the  efforts,  and  the 
half-torn-off  button,  must  be  directed  exclusively  to  the 
inward  substance  of  the  matter,  and  must  not  divert 
the  attention  from  the  principal  and  important  part  to 
particulars  and  trifles,  as  so  often  happens.  One  of  the 
contemporary  writers,  in  narrating  the  history  of  Joseph 
and  the  wife  of  Potiphar,  would  assuredly  not  miss  the 
opportunity  to  shine  by  his  knowledge  of  life,  and  would 
write :  '  Come  to  me,  said  Potiphar's  wife,  languidly, 
stretching  out  toward  Joseph  her  hand  delicate  with 
the  perfumed  massage,  with  such  and  such  a  bracelet, 
and  so  forth.'  And  all  these  details  not  only  would  not 
illuminate  the  substance  of  the  matter  more  clearly,  but 
would  infallibly  extinguish  it." 

One  of  L.  N.  Tolstoy's  acquaintances  compares  his 
work  with  viands  prepared  by  certain  thrifty  house- 
wives, who  pay  little  heed  to  the  outward  attractiveness 
of  the  food,  but  concentrate  their  attention  chiefly  upon 
seeing  that  the  provisions  are  fresh,  and  cleanly  cooked, 
and  that  the  food  excels  in  its  nutritive  qualities. 

And,  in  fact,  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  troubles  himself  very 
little  about  the  outward  attractiveness  of  his  works, 
often  heaping  up  one  incidental  proposition  upon  an- 
other, fitting  them  out  with  repetitions  of  one  and  the 
same  word,  and  absolutely  disregarding  various  aca- 
demical rules  concerning  style.  But,  on  the  other  hand, 
when  it  is  a  question  of  "  freshness  "  and  "purity,"  there 
is  no  end  to  his  exacting  demands. 

I  once  happened  to  discover  to  what  lengths  his  ex- 
actingness  goes.  The  conversation,  somehow,  turned 
upon  the  Molokani l  who,  as  is  well  known,  do  not  recog- 
nize any  books  except  those  of  a  religious  character. 
We  were  talking  in  particular  about  this,  and  one  of 
those  present  severely  condemned  the  one-sidedness  of 
the  Molokani.  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  was  in  one  of  those 
mental  states  which  come  upon  people  only  after  great 
internal  changes  and  important  conquests  over  self.  A 

1  A  religious  sect  —  the  milk-drinkers,  literally. — TR, 


62       HOW   COUNT    L.  N.  TOLSTOY 

man  in  that  state  of  mind  seems  already  to  have  passed 
over  the  threshold  of  life,  and  to  have  placed  himself 
above  many  human  weaknesses.  Communion  with  peo- 
ple who  are  in  that  condition  affords  such  lofty  delight, 
that  there  is  nothing  which  can  be  compared  with  it. 
Their  thoughts  are  penetrating,  their  feelings  are  pro- 
found and  lucid.  The  most  commonplace  words  acquire 
in  their  mouths  remarkable  force.  The  most  gloomy 
situations  acquire  clearness  and  relief. 

Such  moments  of  mental  illumination  always  seem 
to  transfigure  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch's  exterior.  His  harsh 
features  beam,  and  take  on  a  reflection  of  spiritual 
beauty.  He  becomes  gracious,  benevolent,  listens  pa- 
tiently, speaks  in  a  calm,  friendly  manner,  with  head 
slightly  bowed  and  hands  clasped.  In  the  midst  of  the 
conversation,  when  his  interlocutor  is  at  a  loss  to  express 
any  thought,  he  gently  lays  his  hand  on  the  other's 
shoulder,  or  on  his  knee,  and  by  this  movement  alone 
creates  around  him  the  atmosphere  of  intimacy. 

Any  one  who  has  seen  him  at  such  moments  forgives 
him  for  all  the  asperities  of  his  character,  and  becomes 
permeated  with  the  most  profound  feeling  toward  him 
that  one  man  can  entertain  for  another  man. 

Every  remark  of  L.  N.  Tolstoy's  at  such  moments 
acquires  special  value,  because  he  reveals  himself  wholly, 
as  it  were,  in  his  spiritual  blossoming. 

Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  listened  attentively  to  his  compan- 
ion, who  disproved  of  the  Molokani,  because  they  avoid 
worldly  books,  and  then  said  thoughtfully :  — 

"  But  ought  we  to  condemn  them  for  that  ?  When 
you  sometimes  reflect  how  many  lies  are  piled  up  in  our 
books,  you  find  it  difficult  to  say  where  there  is  most  of 
it,  in  life  or  in  books.  And  you  sometimes  take  your 
pen,  and  write  something  after  this  fashion :  '  Early  in 
the  morning  Ivan  Nikititch  rose  from  his  bed,  and 
called  his  son  to  him.'  And  all  at  once  you  feel 
ashamed  of  yourself,  and  you  throw  down  your  pen. 
Why  lie,  old  man  ?  For  that  did  not  occur,  and  you 
know  no  Ivan  Nikititch.  Then  why,  in  your  old  age, 
shall  you  have  recourse  to  lies?  Write  about  what 


LIVES  AND   WORKS  63 

has  happened,  what  you  have  actually  seen  and  lived 
through.  No  lies  are  needed.  There  are  so  many  of 
them." 

With  such  esthetic  demands,  of  course  it  is  impossible 
to  write  a  romance  every  year.  Even  if  Lyeff  Nikolae- 
vitch  wished  to  do  that  now  he  could  not,  in  all  probabil- 
ity, because  he  has  become  so  thoroughly  imbued  with 
the  habit  of  endeavoring  to  obtain  a  certain  lucidity  of 
subject  that  he  sometimes  even  writes  his  letters  over 
several  times,  and  meditates  upon  them  with  concen- 
trated attention,  and  writes  them  with  as  much  feeling 
as  that  with  which  a  bridegroom  goes  forth  to  his 
wedding. 

On  another  occasion  I  happened  to  hear  Lyeff  Niko- 
laevitch's  opinion  concerning  his  works,  during  a  stroll 
in  the  fields.  He  retarded  his  steps  for  a  minute,  and 
said,  with  a  tinge  of  bitterness  :  — 

"  You  write,  and  write  all  sorts  of  novels  and  tales, 
and  when  you  look  at  the  life  of  our  educated  class,  and 
compare  it  with  the  toilsome  life  of  the  common  people, 
you  are  seized  with  shame  that  you  are  busying  your- 
self with  such  trifles  as  writing  for  the  educated  class, 
and  you  long  to  renounce  it  all  for  good." 

I  tried  to  reply  :  — 

"  But  how  can  we  renounce  that  which  has  been  given 
to  us  by  God,  in  the  quality  of  His  loftiest  gift  ?  And  is 
it  possible  that  it  is  not  worth  our  while  to  work  for  the 
educated  class  ?  A  conviction  has  arisen  that  it  was  not 
the  Prussian  army,  but  the  German  scientist,  who  con- 
quered France.  And  therein  lies  a  certain  amount  of 
truth.  Without  enlightenment  there  cannot  be  that  full 
understanding  which  alone  can  give  to  a  man  power  and 
firmness.  And  so  long  as  our  people  are  uneducated  the 
Power  of  Darkness  will  long  hang  over  them,  with  all  its 
monstrous  attributes.  But  who,  if  not  the  educated  class, 
can  introduce  enlightened  principles  among  the  masses 
of  the  common  people  ?  And  do  not  you,  by  aiding  the 
growth  of  education  through  your  works,  serve  the  com- 
mon people  also,  simultaneously  ?  You  certainly  do  serve 
them.  Therefore  do  not  turn  away  from  us  as  from 


64       HOW   COUNT   L.  N.  TOLSTOY 

unworthy  persons,  with  your  divine  gift,  and  do  not 
deprive  us  of  the  fine  specimens  of  your  creative  power." 

We  were  walking  briskly,  in  consequence  of  which 
I  breathed  brokenly,  and  my  speech  assumed  a  pas- 
sionate tone.  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  made  no  reply,  and 
for  some  time  we  proceeded  in  silence.  Then  began  a 
conversation  on  the  problems  of  art.  He  was  then  medi- 
tating upon  his  book,  What  is  Art?  This  work  had 
been  projected  by  him  in  the  '70' s,  at  the  request  of  a 
St.  Petersburg  journalist.  But  when  he  then  set  about 
the  work,  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  perceived  that  many  fun- 
damental questions  of  art  were  not,  as  yet,  sufficiently 
fixed  in  his  mind.  And  only  after  the  lapse  of  seven- 
teen years,  when  everything  had  thoroughly  fermented 
in  his  mind,  and  had  quieted  down,  did  he  at  last  take 
up  the  work  already  begun.  His  writing-table  and 
shelves  were  loaded  with  piles  of  all  possible  sorts  of 
folios,  which  treated  of  art  in  Russian  and  foreign 
languages. 

Thanks  to  his  numerous  friends  and  admirers,  he  was 
able  to  acquaint  himself  with  very  rare  and  precious 
publications,  unattainable  for  most  people,  and,  in  the 
course  of  several  months  of  preparation,  he  seemed  to 
live  exclusively  in  his  new  work,  gladly  discussing  it, 
and  developing  in  conversation  the  theses  he  had  in 
view.  This  work  cost  him  about  two  years  of  assiduous 
labor. 


LIVES  AND   WORKS  65 


CHAPTER  XV 

AFTER  the  appearance  of  his  article  upon  art,  printed, 
in  an  abbreviated  form,  in  the  Moscow  journal,  Ques- 
tions of  Philosophy  and  Psychology,  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch 
received  a  number  of  sympathetic  letters,  from  persons 
whose  opinions  he  could  not  but  value  in  the  matter 
of  art. 

Thus  the  well-known  critic,  V.  Stasoff,  wrote  to  him 
that,  although  he  disagreed  with  him  on  several  points 
in  his  new  work,  he,  nevertheless,  considered  it  a  notable 
work  which  presented  the  last  word  of  the  nineteenth 
century,  of  that  great  century  which  could  end  in  such 
unprecedented  truth,  unknown  throughout  the  course  of 
many  ages. 

The  artist  Ilya  Ry6pin  wrote  to  L.  N.  Tolstoy  under 
the  vivid  impression  of  the  newly  read  article :  — 

"  Adored  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch !  I  have  just  read  What 
is  Art  ?  and  am  still  under  the  influence  of  the  powerful 
impression  of  this  mighty  work  of  yours.  If  it  is  possible 
not  to  agree  with  some  particulars  and  examples,  on  the 
other  hand,  the  book  as  a  whole  and  the  presentation  of 
questions  are  so  profound  and  indisputable,  that  one 
becomes  cheerful  and  is  permeated  with  joy.  Religion 
has  been  discovered  —  that  is  the  greatest  deed  of  your 
life.  And  I  can  say  without  hypocrisy,  I  am  happy  in 
having  lived  until  this  day." 

All  these  expressions  of  sympathy  touched  Lyeff 
Nikolaevitch.  Yet  he  bears  himself  with  good-will 
toward  the  critics  who  do  not  agree  with  his  principal 
propositions,  but  who,  nevertheless,  introduce  his  work 
to  their  readers.  And  only  when  a  criticism  was  delib- 
erately hostile  or  too  vehement  did  he,  without  comment, 
lead  the  conversation  to  another  theme.  But  one  day, 
after  reading  a  criticism  of  that  sort,  written  with  particu- 
lar irritation,  he  burst  out  laughing,  and  said :  — 


66       HOW   COUNT   L.  N.  TOLSTOY 

"When  you  read  about  yourself,  you,  nevertheless, 
prize  sympathy  and  are  chagrined  at  blame.  But  in 
this  special  case,  the  article  has  given  me  pleasure. 
You  feel  as  though  you  had  tumbled  right  into  the 
middle  of  an  ant-heap,  and  they  were  angrily  swarming 
about." 

What  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  cannot  endure  is  unmeasured 
praise  addressed  to  him,  and,  in  general,  all  sorts  of 
exaggeration  in  the  expression  of  feeling.  This  always 
embarrasses  him,  and  he  then  becomes  curt  and  disa- 
greeable. In  general  he  does  not  like  any  expressions 
of  approbation  which  have  the  odor  of  incense.  In 
such  cases  his  pride  seems  to  rebel  because  an  effort  is 
being  made  to  capture  him,  not  with  the  language  of 
the  soul,  but  with  the  honey  of  the  tongue.  One  of 
his  visitors  began  one  day  to  tell  him  about  some  remark- 
able revival,  called  forth  by  the  appearance  in  print  of 
Master  and  Workman. 

L.  N.  Tolstoy  frowned,  and  applying  to  himself  the 
words  of  Phocion,  he  interrupted  the  speaker :  — 

"  Have  I  then  written  something  very  stupid  ? " 

As  he  is  very  exacting  toward  his  own  works,  and 
regards  art  as  the  most  powerful  of  all  means  in  the 
matter  of  disseminating  good  sentiments  among  people, 
L.  N.  Tolstoy  will  not  tolerate  any  carelessness  in  art, 
and  will  sooner  pardon  lack  of  talent  than  lack  of  serious 
bearing  toward  any  matter.  And  one  instance  of  gross 
carelessness  in  the  works  of  any  person  is  enough  to 
make  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  forever  turn  his  back  upon 
that  author. 

The  conversation  fell  one  day  upon  Melnikoff-Pe- 
tchersky,  to  whom  L.  N.  Tolstoy  bore  himself  negatively. 
I  inquired :  — 

"  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch,  why  are  you  so  indifferent 
toward  Melnikoff-Petchersky  ?  He  has  written  some 
very  good  things." 

"  Perhaps,"  said  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  with  a  suggestion 
of  doubt,  and  immediately  added  :  "  However,  I  do  not 
think  so.  One  of  his  books  once  fell  into  my  hands ; 
I  opened  it,  and  hit  upon  the  following :  '  The  Russian 


LIVES  AND  WORKS  67 

peasant  cuts  down  a  whole  oak  in  order  that  he  may 
make  himself  a  cart-shaft  or  an  axle  from  a  bough.' 
Then  I  shut  the  book  and  said  to  myself :  '  I  Ve  had 
enough  of  Melnikoff.' " 

One  may  not  agree  with  some  of  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch's 
assertions  about  books  and  people.  But  I  have  never 
chanced  to  observe  that  he  exhibited  a  sarcastic,  mali- 
cious feeling  toward  any  one,  or  that  the  opinions  ex- 
pressed by  him  were  tinged  with  the  color  of  his  rela- 
tions toward  the  people.  Thus,  while  he  always  bore 
himself  with  particular  warmth  toward  Lyeskoff  and 
N.  Strakhoff,  as  men,  both  during  their  lifetime  and 
after  their  death,  he  invariably  said  that  there  was  a 
good-sized  spoonful  of  tar  in  their  cask  of  honey.1  This 
independence  in  his  judgments,  and  the  sincere  straight- 
forwardness with  which  L.  N.  Tolstoy  bears  himself 
toward  everything,  always  impart  to  his  words  a  peculiar 
value. 

1 A  Russian  proverb,  "  A  spoonful  of  tar  in  a  cask  of  honey,"  indicating 
that  a  very  li ttle  of  a  bad  thing  will  spoil  a  great  deal  of  a  good  thing.  —  TR.. 


68       HOW   COUNT   L.  N.  TOLSTOY 


CHAPTER  XVI 

LYEFF  NIKOLAEVITCH'S  constant  aspiration  toward 
veracity  and  lucidity  in  his  writings  demands  much 
time,  not  only  in  the  writing  itself,  but  also  in  the  prepar- 
atory work.  He  tries  to  find  in  life  the  confirmation 
of  the  situations  which  he  has  invented,  and  immediately 
rejects  everything  imaginary  when  life  furnishes  a  ready- 
made  episode.  This  was  the  case  with  Anna  Karenina, 
whom  L.  N.  Tolstoy  did  not,  at  first,  intend  to  kill.  But 
an  analogous  romantic  episode  happened  near  Yasnaya 
Polyana,  where  the  unhappy  heroine.  Anna,  threw  her- 
self under  the  railway  train.  This  impelled  L.  N.  Tolstoy 
to  a  fresh  treatment  of  the  question,  and  considerably 
modified  his  original  plan. 

Anna  Karenina  was  begun  under  the  following  circum- 
stances. One  evening,  in  1873,  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch 
entered  the  drawing-room  as  his  eldest  son,  SergyeY,  was 
reading  aloud  to  his  wife  Byelkins  Story,  by  Pushkin.  The 
reading  ceased  when  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  made  his  ap- 
pearance. He  asked  what  they  were  reading  and  opened 
the  book,  and  when  he  read,  "  The  guests  assembled  at 
the  country-house,"  he  went  into  ecstasies. 

"That  is  the  way  one  ought  always  to  begin  to 
write ! "  said  he.  "  That  immediately  arouses  the 
reader's  interest." 

A  relative  of  the  Tolstoys  declared  that  it  would 
be  a  very  good  thing  if  L.  N.  T.  would  write  a  novel  of 
high  life.  That  evening  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  wrote, 
"Everything  was  in  a  tumult  at  the  house  of  the 
Oblonskys." 

And  then,  when  he  began  to  write  the  romance,  he 
placed  at  the  beginning :  "  All  happy  families  resemble 
each  other ;  every  unhappy  family  is  unhappy  after  its 
-own  fashion." 


LIVES  AND  WORKS  69 

The  Death  of  Ivan  Hitch  was  written  by  Lyeff  Niko- 
laevitch  under  the  influence  of  a  narration  by  one  of 
the  members  of  the  Moscow  Court,  concerning  the  death 
of  his  comrade,  Ivan  Hitch  M. 

The  Kreutzer  Sonata  had  its  origin  in  the  following 
circumstances.  The  artist  I.  Ryepin,  and  the  actor  An- 
dreeff-Burlak,  who  made  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  laugh  until 
he  ached  with  his  amusing  stories,  were  visiting  at 
Yasnaya  Polyana,  and  one  evening,  Mme.  G.,  who  had 
just  arrived  from  abroad,  played  the  Kreutzer  Sonata 
with  such  brilliant  expressiveness,  that  she  produced 
upon  every  one,  and,  in  particular,  upon  Lyeff  Nikolae- 
vitch, a  very  profound  impression,  under  the  influence 
of  which  he  said  to  I.  Ryepin  :  — 

"  Let  us  write  The  Kreutzer  Sonata.  You  with  the 
brush,  I  with  the  pen,  and  Vasily  Nikolaevitch  (Andreeff- 
Burlak)  shall  read  it  on  the  stage,  where  your  picture 
shall  stand." 

This  proposal  called  forth  general  approbation. 

After  a  time,  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch,  with  his  character- 
istic perseverance,  set  to  work  at  what,  probably,  had 
long  been  seething  in  his  brain. 

The  Power  of  Darkness  was  taken,  in  its  entirety, 
from  a  case  in  court  which  occurred  in  Tula. 

The  Fruits  of  Civilization  was  written  for  amateur 
theatricals  at  Yasnaya  Polyana.  At  first  the  play  con- 
sisted of  two  acts,  and  was  called  She  was  crafty.  But 
as  the  rehearsals,  in  which  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  took  an 
active  part,  proceeded,  he  improved  and  amplified  the 
piece,  in  conformity  with  the  number  of  the  acting  per- 
sonages. During  the  performance  of  the  play,  several 
of  the  actors  gave  him  so  much  pleasure  by  their  acting 
that  some  of  the  scenes  were  forever  graven  on  his 
memory.  He  was  especially  enthusiastic  over  his  exam- 
ining magistrate,  L.,  who  took  the  part  of  one  of  the 
peasants. 

"  He  came  to  Yasnaya  Polyana,"  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch 
relates,  "  and  all  day  long  he  hardly  spoke  to  any  one, 
but  kept  walking  about  with  drooping  head.  But  on 
the  stage  he  surpassed  them  all,  and  out  of  his  small 


7o       HOW   COUNT   L.  N.  TOLSTOY 

part  he  made  something  so  fine  that  I  had  not  even 
foreseen  it  when  I  wrote  that  part." 

And,  growing  animated,  according  to  his  custom  when 
true  genius  is  under  discussion,  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  be- 
gan to  recall  the  playing  of  the  old  Moscow  actors: 
Shstchepkin,  Martynoff,  and  others.  He  expressed 
himself  with  particular  warmth  about  Martynoff :  - 

"  He  was  a  great  artist,"  said  he,  "  uniting  in  himself 
three  precious  qualities :  talent,  wit,  and  the  capacity 
for  persistent  labor.  In  A.  Potyekhin's  play,  Stolen 
Goods  bring  no  Luck,  Martynoff  was  so  incomparable, 
that  I,  although  I  was  only  then  beginning  my  literary 
career,  started  the  applause,  and  we  organized  an  ova- 
tion for  him." 

And  when  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  said  this,  his  face  lost 
its  stern  character,  and  kindled  with  the  youthful,  cap- 
tivating flame  of  enthusiasm. 

I  chanced  to  behold  L.  N.  Tolstoy  a  second  time  in 
that  state  during  April  of  last  year,  when  the  talented 
sculptor,  Prince  P.  Trubetskoy,  was  in  Moscow,  having 
come  thither  from  Italy,  where  he  always  lives.  Prince 
Trubetskoy  expressed  a  desire  to  make  a  bust  of  Lyeff 
Nikolaevitch.  When  I  came  to  Tolstoy,  the  bust  had 
been  begun,  and  was  standing  in  the  dining-room,  down- 
stairs, covered  with  damp  cloths. 

"  You  have  not  heard  of  the  sculptor,  Trubetskoy  ?  " 
asked  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch,  as  he  bade  me  welcome. 

"  No." 

"  Then  come  with  me  and  I  will  show  you  something. 
What  wonderful  talent !  "  said  L.  N.,  becoming  ani- 
mated. And  with  swift,  lively  steps,  he  led  me  to  the 
lower  dining-room,  striding  down  several  steps  of  the 
staircase  at  a  time.  In  the  dining-room  Lyeff  Nikolae- 
vitch went  up  to  the  veiled  bust,  and,  without  ceasing  to 
talk  animatedly  about  Prince  P.  Trubetskoy's  excep- 
tional talent,  he  began,  with  irresolute  mien,  to  free  the 
bust  from  the  damp  cloths.  And,  in  fact,  even  from 
the  work  which  Prince  Trubetskoy  had  done  in  a  few 
hours,  it  was  possible  to  judge  of  this  sculptor's  re- 
markable talent.  Before  me  were  two  Lyeff  Tolstoys  : 


LIVES  AND  WORKS  71 

one  living,  speaking,  impressionable  ;  the  other  speech- 
less, motionless,  but  as  familiar  to  me  as  the  first. 

With  profound  feeling  I  divided  my  attention  between 
the  superb  work  of  man  and  the  master-creation  of 
nature,  that  had  sent  forth  so  splendid  and  artistic  a 
temperament,  which,  at  the  age  of  seventy,  can  flame 
so  infectiously  with  the  fire  of  pure  ecstasy. 


72       HOW   COUNT    L.  N.  TOLSTOY 


CHAPTER  XVII 

THE  hot  and  passionate  temperament  wherewith  na- 
ture endowed  L.  N.  Tolstoy  has  not  been  destroyed  by 
outward  influences  to  the  present  time.  One  day,  not 
long  ago,  a  horse  grew  restive  under  him.  He  is  a 
good  horseman,  and  loves  horses  after  the  manner  of 
a  coachman  —  carefully  and  tenderly,  and  understands 
capitally  how  to  manage  them.  He  knows  their  nature, 
their  habits,  and  their  tricks,  and  sometimes  it  even 
seems  as  though  he  understood  their  language.  But,  in 
this  case,  nothing  was  of  any  avail.  The  horse  reared 
and  backed.  All  at  once,  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  straight- 
ened up,  his  eyes  flashed,  and  the  whip  descended, 
hissing  through  the  air,  upon  the  horse.  The  horse 
sprang  forward,  and  a  minute  later  no  one  would  have 
believed  that  this  plainly  garbed,  modest  old  man,  with 
a  white  beard,  could  be  so  menacing.  But  one  thing 
may  be  asserted  with  truth,  that  this  affair  did  not  pass 
off  without  leaving  its  traces  upon  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch, 
for,  with  his  hot  temperament,  and  pugnacious,  self- 
willed  character,  he  at  the  same  time  possesses  a  re- 
markably sensitive  conscience,  which  suffers  tortures  at 
every  act  of  violence. 

In  this  chain  of  seething,  imperious  instincts  linked 
with  delicate  spiritual  organization  lies  the  profound 
tragicness  of  Tolstoy's  personality.  Born  with  strong 
passions,  and  with  a  character  in  the  highest  degree 
elastic,  mettlesome,  and  self-willed,  presenting  in  his 
person  in  every  respect  man  raised,  as  it  were,  to 
the  cube,  or  that  "  over-man"  (iibermenscK)  of  whom 
Nietszsche  dreamed,  L.  N.  Tolstoy  at  the  same  time 
possesses  an  all-embracing  soul,  which  thirsts  for  self- 
perfection.  On  the  one  hand,  an  insatiable  thirst  for 
power  over  people,  and  on  the  other,  an  unconquera- 


LIVES  AND  WORKS  73 

ble  ardor  for  inward  purity  and  the  sweetness  of  meek- 
ness. 

Prometheus,  in  the  aspect  of  a  stooping  river-boatman 
with  his  hauling-noose  around  his  neck,  or  some  Caius 
Marcius  Coriolanus,  in  the  position  of  a  servant,  would 
present  a  less  tragical  situation.  What  a  theme  for  a 
psychological  drama !  Yet  this  tragic  state  is  a  charac- 
teristic peculiarity  of  the  Tolstoy  personality,  and 
gleams  forth  in  nearly  all  his  writings. 

The  elements  of  this  tragedy  lie  in  his  religious  zeal, 
which  can  never  reconcile  the  man  with  himself,  and 
keeps  his  soul  constantly  in  a  state  of  powerful  tension, 
—  "like  fish  on  dry  land,"  to  use  the  characteristic 
expression  of  the  Danish  thinker,  Kierkegaard. 

This  aspiration  to  become  from  finite  infinite,  from 
ashes  the  Phoenix,  from  "the  bag  of  meat"  God,  this 
aspiration  which  lies,  in  potential  form,  in  every  writer, 
is  developed  in  L.  N.  Tolstoy  to  the  highest  degree, 
and  constitutes,  as  it  were,  his  second  nature.  Turge- 
neff,  as  far  back  as  the  '5o's,  wrote  to  Druzhinin  con- 
cerning L.  Tolstoy :  "  When  this  young  wine  shall  have 
got  through  fermenting,  there  will  come  forth  from  it  a 
beverage  worthy  of  the  gods."  But  what  Turgeneff  did 
not  divine,  because  he  was  lacking  in  religious  experience, 
was  that  the  man  who  believes  can  never  "  get  through 
fermenting,"  and  drop  the  curtain  upon  his  inner  world. 
Life  every  day  creates  some  fresh  complication,  and 
imposes  fresh  burdens  upon  him.  L.  N.  Tolstoy  will 
never  free  himself  from  burdens  of  this  sort.  He  finds 
it  especially  painful  in  Moscow,  where  his  life  is  not 
always  arranged  according  to  his  plans,  and  he  is  often 
compelled  to  dwell  in  a  sphere  that  is  alien  to  him. 

One  day  he  met  one  of  his  visitors  on  the  street,  and 
got  into  conversation  with  him.  It  appeared  that  this 
man  lived  in  bachelor  quarters,  dined  where  he  pleased, 
and  could,  at  any  time,  isolate  himself  in  Moscow  as  in 
an  uninhabited  island. 

Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  told  about  this  meeting,  and  added 
with  a  smile  :  — 

"  And  I  envied  him  to  a  degree  which  I  am  ashamed 


74       HOW   COUNT   L.  N.  TOLSTOY 

to  express.  Just  think  of  it:  a  man  can  live  as  he  likes 
without  causing  suffering  to  any  one.  Really,  that  is 
—  bliss!" 

The  conversation  turned  upon  the  imperative  neces- 
sity for  solitude  in  the  case  of  certain  people,  and  the 
burdensomeness  of  isolation  for  others,  who  would  un- 
dergo any  sort  of  suffering  rather  than  solitude.  Some 
one  cited  the  instance  of  a  doctor  who  went  mad  after 
two  months  of  solitary  confinement. 

"Yes,  yes,  that  may  be,"  said  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch. 
"  But,  on  the  other  hand,  solitude  may  be  genuine  bliss 
for  people  who  are  able  to  draw  resources  from  within 
themselves." 

"  Voluntary,  yes ;  but  involuntary,  no,"  said  some  one. 

"Why?  everything  depends  on  the  man's  relation 
to  certain  phenomena,"  returned  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch. 
"  They  tell  a  story  about  a  certain  gentleman  who,  for 
some  reason,  was  kept  for  a  long  time  in  solitary  con- 
finement, and  spent  his  time  there  in  a  very  remarkable 
manner.  He  managed  it  as  follows :  he  evoked  in  his 
memory  the  recollections  which  were  dear  to  him,  vis- 
ited, in  thought,  all  his  friends,  and  held  with  them  pro- 
longed conversations  on  the  most  varied  topics.  Thus 
his  time  passed ;  he  enjoyed  an  excellent  state  of  mind, 
and  good  sleep.  But  is  there  nothing  except  imaginary 
conversations  of  which  a  man  can  think,  when  he  is  left 
alone?  Especially  in  later  years,  when  the  animal  life 
has  considerably  calmed  down,  and  problems  of  the 
spirit  have  come  to  the  front.  Then  it  often  happens 
that  it  is  a  hardship  to  be  with  people  who  are  strangers 
to  him.  Solitude  at  that  time  of  life  is  not  a  hardship, 
but  a  delight,  a  happiness  of  which  one  can  only  dream. 
Some  people  wonder  at  Socrates  who  died  and  did  not 
care  to  flee  from  prison.  But  is  it  not  better  to  die  con- 
sciously in  fulfilment  of  one's  duty,  than  unexpectedly 
from  some  stupid  bacteria  ?  And  I  have  always  been 
surprised  that  so  clever  a  man  as  Turgeneff  should  bear 
himself  as  he  did  toward  death.  He  was  awfully  afraid 
of  death.  Is  it  even  incomprehensible  that  he  was  not 
.afraid  to  be  afraid  of  death  ?  And  that  darkness  of 


LIVES  AND  WORKS  75 

reason  was  really  astonishing  in  him !  He  and  Prince 
D.  D.  Urusoff  used  to  discuss  religion,  and  Turgeneff 
used  to  dispute  and  dispute,  and  all  of  a  sudden  he 
would  no  longer  be  able  to  control  himself,  and  would 
cover  up  his  ears,  and,  pretending  that  he  had  forgotten 
Urusoffs  name,  would  shout,  '  I  won't  listen  any  longer 
to  that  Prince  Trubetzkoy.' " 

And  L.  N.  Tolstoy  mimicked  Turgeneff' s  voice  until 
one  would  have  thought  the  man  was  there  in  person. 
When  he  is  in  good  humor,  and  finds  himself  in  the  cir- 
cle of  his  intimate  friends,  he  sometimes  communicates 
his  impressions  of  persons,  and  accurately  discriminates 
the  characteristic  peculiarities  of  each  individual. 


76       HOW   COUNT   L.  N.  TOLSTOY 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

WITH  the  spring  flitting  of  the  Tolstoys  from  Moscow 
to  Yasnaya  Polyana,  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch's  life  is  fitted 
into  a  more  convenient  frame.  In  the  first  place,  the 
country,  with  its  conditions  of  life,  and  the  absence  of 
constant  tragic  contrasts,  has  a  favorable  action  upon 
Lyeff  Nikolaevitch ;  in  the  second  place,  at  Yasnaya 
Polyana  he  has  more  time  at  his  disposal,  although  the 
"  spectators  "  do  not  let  him  alone  even  there. 

Yasnaya  Polyana  descended  to  L.  N.  Tolstoy  from 
his  mother,  by  birth  a  Princess  Volkhonsky,  whom  he 
has  immortalized  in  War  and  Peace,  under  the  name  of 
Princess  Marya  Bolkonsky.  It  is  proper  to  mention  that 
the  name  Zj<?^was  given  to  him  in  honor  of  her  former 
betrothed,  Prince  Lyeff  Golitzin,  who  had  died. 

L.  N.  Tolstoy  was  born  at  Yasnaya  Polyana,  August 
28  (September  9,  N.S.),  1828.  But  the  house  in  which 
our  great  writer  first  saw  the  light  now  belongs  to  other 
owners  and  stands  in  another  village. 

When  he  was  in  the  Caucasus,  at  the  beginning  of 
the  'SQ'S,  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  found  himself  in  difficult 
financial  circumstances,  in  consequence  of  a  heavy  loss 
at  cards,  so  he  commissioned  one  of  his  relatives  to  sell 
the  house  for  removal.  And  the  vast  manor-house,  with 
its  pillars  and  verandas,  was  sold  for  about  five  thousand 
rubles.  At  the  present  time,  no  one  lives  in  the  house, 
and  it  stands  in  the  village  of  Dolgoe,  neglected,  and 
with  the  windows  boarded  up. 

I  visited  the  house  in  February  of  the  present  year, 
with  an  amateur  photographer,  P.  V.  Preobrazhensky. 
A  feeling  of  oppression  seized  upon  us,  when,  balancing 
ourselves  on  the  cross-beams,  we  entered  the  half- 
ruined  house,  with  its  projecting  balconies,  crumbling 
walls,  and  heaps  of  rubbish,  where  young  life  had  for- 


I 

o 

o 

u. 
o 

u 

CO 

D 
O 

I 


LIVES  AND  WORKS  77 

merly  beamed  and  throbbed  abundantly.  A  piercing 
wind  rushed  through  the  boarded-up  windows,  and 
raised  clouds  of  dust.  In  the  corner  room,  where  was 
born  the  "great  writer  of  the  Russian  land,"  lay  a  dis- 
ordered mass  of  broken  fragments,  and  a  pile  of  various 
odds  and  ends. 

Of  the  former  decoration,  all  that  remained  was 
bits  of  the  ornaments  here  and  there.  But  the  lower 
story,  where  the  school-room  had  been,  and  where 
the  famous  Karl  Ivanitch  had  been  used  to  tickle  his 
pupil's  heels,  is  still  sound  and  fit  for  habitation. 

The  first  time  I  was  at  Yasnaya  Polyana  was  in  the 
autumn  of  1895. 

It  was  a  clear,  cool  morning  when  the  train  of 
the  Moscow-Kursk  railway  halted  at  the  station  of 
"  Kozloffzasyeka,"  which  is  three  versts  from  Yasnaya 
Polyana.  The  road  from  the  station  here  runs  through 
a  broad  cutting  in  the  oak  forest,  which  was  already 
touched  with  autumnal  hues,  and  stood  out  picturesquely 
against  the  pale  turquoise  sky. 

I  was  driven  in  a  cabriolet  by  a  broad-shouldered 
coachman,  with  a  black  beard,  shaven  on  the  cheeks. 
He  talked  in  a  dignified  way,  and  expressed  his  appro- 
bation of  his  employers.  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  particularly 
pleased  him. 

"  There  can  be  no  such  other  gentleman  in  the  world 
as  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch,"  said  he.  "  He  seems  to  be  not 
more  important,  but  less  important,  than  every  one  else. 
And  whoever  is  there,  be  it  a  general  or  a  common  man, 
he  makes  no  distinction  whatever.  He  is  the  same  with 
every  one  —  courteous,  sociable.  The  Countess  is  a 
good  lady,  also,  but  of  another  sort ;  she  's  terribly  fond 
of  order." 

We  crossed  the  macadam  highway,  straight  as  an 
arrow,  and  perceived,  on  the  slope  of  an  elevation,  a 
large  park,  which  concealed  from  us  Yasnaya  Polyana. 
The  park,  laid  out  at  Yasnaya  Polyana  during  Lyeff 
Nikolaevitch's  period  of  enthusiasm  for  rural  affairs,  is 
very  large.  It  occupies  about  thirty  desyatins,1  and 

1  Eighty-one  acres. 


78       HOW   COUNT   L.  N.  TOLSTOY 

during  the  harvest  season  there  is  an  immense  amount 
of  apples. 

At  the  entrance  to  the  Yasnaya  Polyana  park  stand 
two  towers,  in  medieval  style,  placed  there  by  L.  N. 
Tolstoy's  grandfather  on  his  mother's  side,  N.  S.  Vol- 
khonsky.  From  these  towers  the  road  runs  through 
the  park,  rising  a  little  as  it  approaches  the  house, 
and  forms  a  level  corridor  through  the  aged  birches. 
Through  the  dense  leaves  gleamed  a  pond,  and  glimpses 
were  visible  of  a  square,  smoothly  rolled  space,  with  a 
net  for  lawn-tennis,  and  at  last  shone  out  in  its  white- 
ness the  long,  two-story  house  where  the  greater  part  of 
Lyeff  Tolstoy's  life  has  been  passed.  This  house  was 
not  built  all  at  once,  but,  as  it  were,  spread  out  in  pro- 
portion as  the  family  increased. 

The  cabriolet  drove  round  the  side  of  the  house, 
which  is  devoid  of  windows,  and  halted  before  a  low 
porch,  toward  which  an  ancient  elm  tree,  called  here  the 
poor  people  s  tree,  stretched  forth  its  many-branched 
trunk.  Beside  the  elm  stands  the  bench  on  which  the 
poor  people  and  the  peasants  await  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch. 
In  a  small  vestibule,  with  an  unpainted  floor,  stood  a 
broad  bookcase,  filled  with  books,  chiefly  by  foreign 
authors.  By  the  side  of  the  mirror,  with  its  letter-box, 
shone  two  bicycles,  and  a  long  box  with  the  implements 
for  croquet  was  to  be  seen.  On  the  pier-glass  lay  two 
bundles  of  English  journals,  with  a  multitude  of  stamps, 
and  a  Japanese  journal,  with  vertical  lines.  A  broad 
wooden  staircase  ascended  from  the  vestibule.  Here, 
as  in  Moscow,  everything  had  an  air  of  simplicity,  long 
use,  and  the  solidity  of  the  ancient  gentry. 

The  lackey  who  came  out  to  meet  me  from  behind  a 
partition-wall,  with  his  little  daughter,  welcomed  me 
cordially,  and  said  that  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  was  up-stairs 
with  guests. 

This  was  contrary  to  rules.  Generally  he  sets  great 
value  on  the  morning.  I  entered  a  very  large  hall,  with 
windows  on  both  sides,  and  hung  with  time-blackened 
family  portraits.  In  the  center  of  the  room,  at  a  long 
table,  sat  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  and  several  guests.  It 


LIVES  AND  WORKS 


79 


was  about  nine  o'clock  in  the  morning.  On  the  table 
stood  a  boiling  samovar,  with  coffee-cups,  cream,  bread, 
and  butter. 

Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  had  grown  somewhat  older  during 
the  time  since  I  had  last  seen  him.  His  gray  hair  had 
grown  thinner,  his  beard  had  become  longer  and  whiter. 
He  was  chatting  with  a  student,  chewing  bread,  and 
moving  his  chin  back  and  forth. 

After  introducing  me  to  his  visitors,  and  talking  for  a 
few  minutes,  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  rose,  poured  himself 
out  a  cup  of  barley  coffee,  and,  excusing  himself,  went 
to  his  own  room  to  work.  But  he  halted  near  the  door, 
and  said  to  the  student :  — 

"  And,  later  on,  you  will  be  surprised  that  the  philo- 
sophical course  can  give  you  nothing.  Well,  you  will 
learn  what  a  certain  Terence  wrote,  when  he  was  of  the 
same  age.  But,  really  now,  what  do  you  want  of  it  ?  " 

The  student  said  quietly,  and  as  though  ashamed  of 
his  frivolity,  that  he  had  been  drawn  into  the  philo- 
sophical course  by  a  liking  for  that  science. 

Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  hastily  acknowledged  the  legiti- 
mate character  of  this  inclination,  and,  with  a  friendly 
nod,  went  off  down-stairs,  shuffling  his  feet.  But  it 
sometimes  happens  that  he  stands  near  that  door  for 
hours  together,  with  a  cup  or  glass  in  his  hand.  So 
that  place  is  called  the  Enchanted  Spot,  because  Lyeff 
Nikolaevitch  often  enters  into  conversation  with  some 
one  on  his  path,  imperceptibly  is  carried  away  with  the 
subject  of  conversation,  and  stands  by  the  hour  near  the 
door. 


8o       HOW   COUNT   L.  N.  TOLSTOY 


CHAPTER  XIX 

THE  Countess,  her  daughters,  relatives  who  had  ar- 
rived from  Kieff,  an  Englishwoman,  a  Frenchwoman, 
a  student-tutor,  the  boys  and  their  comrades,  began  to 
assemble  in  the  dining-room.  All  entered  separately, ' 
drank  their  coffee  or  their  tea,  and  went  off  about  their 
own  affairs.  Others  appeared  to  take  their  place,  made 
a  litter  of  bread  crumbs,  left  the  tea-pot  half  filled,  and 
the  coffee-pot  cold,  and  departed. 

With  the  appearance  of  Countess  Sophia  Andreevna, 
order  was  perceptibly  restored.  The  extinguished  sam- 
ovar began  to  sing,  the  cold  coffee  was  heated,  the 
overbrewed  tea  was  replaced  with  fresh  tea.  Sophia 
Andreevna  is  a  capital  housewife,  attentive,  hospitable. 
One  eats  and  drinks  at  Yasnaya  Polyana  as  at  home. 

All  the  complicated  and  troublesome  management  of 
the  housekeeping  and  the  direction  of  business  is  under 
the  charge  of  Sophia  Andreevna.  She  is  indefatigable, 
and  brings  her  brisk  energy,  thriftiness,  and  activity  to 
bear  on  everything.  Not  without  cause  did  the  coach- 
man say  that  the  Countess  "was  terribly  fond  of  order." 
She  has  only  to  go  away  for  a  day  or  two  on  business 
from  Yasnaya  Polyana,  and  the  complicated  machine 
called  "  the  household  "  begins  to  creak  and  jolt. 

The  Countess  has  no  helpers.  Her  three  eldest  sons 
live  apart,  and  each  is  busy  with  his  own  affairs.  Her 
daughters  have  their  own  interests  and  duties,  which 
occupy  every  moment  of  their  time.  L.  N.  Tolstoy's 
eldest  daughter,  Tatyana  Lvovna,  in  particular,  a  girl 
of  exceptional  talent,  has  been  working  very  hard  of 
late.  In  addition  to  the  hurried  copying  of  her  father's 
articles,  she  conducts  his  vast  correspondence. 

Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  Tolstoy  could  not  answer  with  his 
own  hand  all  the  letters  he  receives,  even  if  he  had  four 


LIVES  AND  WORKS  81 

hands.  A  mass  of  letters  is  received  from  all  quarters 
of  the  globe,  and  in  all  sorts  of  languages. 

Who  all  does  not  address  himself  to  him  with  greet- 
ings, with  sympathy,  with  poignant  problems,  and  accu- 
sations ?  Young  Russians  and  Frenchmen,  Americans, 
Dutchmen,  Poles,  Englishmen,  Baroness  Bertha  Suttner, 
and  a  devout  Brahmin  from  India,  the  dying  Turgeneff, 
and  the  highwayman  Tchurkin,  writing  like  a  wounded 
wild  beast. 

The  vastness  of  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch's  correspondence 
may  be  judged  from  the  fact  that  letters  concerning  the 
Famine  Year  alone  occupy  a  whole  cupboard.  Letters 
are  kept  at  the  Tolstoys'  in  foreign  fashion  with  the 
envelopes  in  which  they  are  received,  and  rarely  does  a 
letter  remain  unanswered. 

After  coffee,  all  hastily  departed  about  their  own 
affairs,  and  the  hall  was  deserted.  I  went  down-stairs 
to  the  library,  which,  with  the  adjoining  room,  is  as- 
signed to  guests. 

This  room  is  furnished  plainly  but  tastefully ;  one 
feels  very  comfortable  in  it,  and  very  much  at  home. 
On  the  wall  hang  family  portraits,  also  portraits  of 
Dickens,  Schopenhauer,  Turgeneff,  E.  Kovalevsky,  and 
others.  In  the  center  of  the  wall,  in  a  niche,  stands 
a  small  marble  bust  of  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch's  favorite 
brother,  Count  Nikolai  Tolstoy,  whom  I  have  already 
mentioned.  The  lower  drawing-room  is  separated  from 
the  library  by  a  yellow  wooden  partition,  with  a  cross- 
beam which  once  suggested  to  L.  N.  Tolstoy  thoughts 
of  suicide,  during  the  period  of  his  spiritual  wander- 
ings. 

One  wall  in  the  library  is  chiefly  occupied  by  gifts 
from  authors.  And  what  dedications  are  there !  In 
prose,  and  in  verse,  in  Italian,  and  in  Servian,  turgid, 
and  modest,  and  of  every  sort. 

One  room  beyond  the  library  is  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch's 
study,  a  small  room,  with  an  unpainted  floor,  a  vaulted 
ceiling,  and  thick  stone  walls.  Formerly  it  was  a  store- 
room, and  on  the  ceiling,  to  this  day,  are  heavy,  black 
iron  rings,  on  which,  in  their  day,  hams  used  to  hang, 


82       HOW   COUNT   L.  N.  TOLSTOY 

and  which  were  afterward  employed  by  Lyeff  Nikolae- 
vitch  for  gymnastic  exercise. 

It  is  as  cool  and  quiet  in  the  study  as  in  a  cellar. 
The  furnishing  of  the  Yasnaya  Polyana  study  differs 
from  that  in  Moscow  in  this  —  that  here  are  various  im- 
plements of  labor :  a  scythe,  a  saw,  pincers,  files,  and 
others.  At  first  all  this  appears  to  be  "affectation," 
but  when  one  lives  in  the  country,  one  becomes  con- 
vinced that  all  this  is  absolutely  indispensable ;  and  one 
must,  imperatively,  know  how  to  do  everything  himself, 
in  order  not  to  fall  constantly  into  a  dependent  and 
helpless  position. 


LIVES  AND  WORKS 


CHAPTER  XX 

AT  three  o'clock,  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  looked  into  the 
library,  and  proposed  to  me  to  take  a  walk  before  din- 
ner. His  face  was  weary,  with  sunken  cheeks,  but 
animated.  His  eyes  still  shone  with  the  waning  fire  of 
excited  thought.  Because  of  the  cool  weather,  he  wore 
a  threadbare  cloth  pelerine,  and  a  woolen  cap  of  domes- 
tic manufacture.  But  these  garments  did  not  become 
him  at  all,  and  one  could  feel  reconciled  to  them  only 
because  of  their  usefulness.  However,  after  the  lapse 
of  a  few  minutes,  it  seemed  as  though  he  ought  to  be  in 
precisely  that  attire. 

Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  had  hardly  made  his  appearance, 
when  several  persons  quitted  the  poor  people's  tree  and 
approached  the  porch. 

"Good  day.  What's  the  matter?"  inquired  Lyeff 
Nikolaevitch,  quietly,  but  with  a  curt,  businesslike  tone, 
thrusting  his  staff  under  his  arm,  and  unfolding  a  docu- 
ment which  a  peasant  had  handed  to  him. 

The  man  began  incoherently  to  explain  some  law 
case.  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  listened  to  him  for  a  while, 
with  concentrated  attention,  and  kept  repeating :  — 

"  Just  so,  just  so." 

Then,  evidently, having  formed  a  clear  idea  of  what 
the  peasant  wanted,  he  thrust  the  document  into  his 
pocket,  and  promised  to  do  all  that  was  necessary,  that 
is,  to  write  a  complaint  to  the  Court  of  Appeal. 

Another  peasant,  of  small  stature,  ill-favored,  with 
shifty  eyes,  held  by  the  hand  a  pale,  scrofulous  little  boy, 
and  stared  intently  at  him.  Evidently,  according  to  the 
program  already  prepared,  the  boy  was  expected  to 
move  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  to  compassion  in  some  way. 
But  the  boy  had  become  confused,  and  hung  back.  Lyeff 
Nikolaevitch  asked  the  peasant  what  he  wanted.  The 
man  began  to  talk  quickly,  in  general  terms,  about  his 


S4       HOW    COUNT    L.  N.  TOLSTOY 

hard  life,  and  then  brought  the  conversation  round  to 
the  extreme  need  of  wood.  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  promised 
to  make  inquiries  about  the  wood,  and  to  aid  his  peti- 
tioner in  this  matter.  Two  young  men  approached, 
clad  in  full  trousers,  sunburnt  of  countenance  and  with 
a  southern  accent.  They  were  excavators,  and  were 
working  several  versts  distant  from  Yasnaya  Polyana. 
They  had  heard  of  "  the  good  gentleman,"  and  had 
come  for  some  little  books. 

"  For  what  little  books  ?  "  asked  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch. 

One  of  the  young  fellows,  with  an  embroidered  shirt, 
said,  with  an  easy  manner,  that  they  wanted  good  little 
books  to  read,  and  they  especially  wished  to  read  God's 
World. 

Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  replied  that  he  had  no  such  book. 
But  the  young  fellow  insisted  that  he  must  have  it, 
because  one  of  the  excavators  had  spoken  of  it.  Lyeff 
Nikolaevitch  went  to  his  study,  and  found  a  collection 
of  all  sorts  of  scientific  information,  under  the  general 
title  of  The  Secrets  and  Marvels  of  God's  World.  He 
gave  them  the  book,  and  requested  them  to  bring  it  back 
in  good  condition.  The  young  man  turned  over  the  leaves 
with  curiosity,  and  assured  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  that  he 
might  rest  easy.  We  were  about  to  set  out,  when  from 
behind  the  house  appeared  a  masculine  figure,  in  a  cap 
with  a  red  band,  and  in  a  threadbare  overcoat.  The 
aspect  of  the  stranger  did  not  inspire  confidence.  He 
made  a  theatrical  salute  from  afar,  and  with  a  theatrical 
gesture  pulled  from  his  pocket  a  document. 

"  A  certificate  of  my  personal  character." 

"It  is  not  necessary  —  not  necessary,"  said  Lyeff 
Nikolaevitch,  hastily,  casting  a  quick  glance  at  the 
stranger,  and  beat  a  retreat  into  the  porch. 

A  minute  later  he  returned,  and,  endeavoring  not  to 
look  at  the  stranger,  thrust  something  into  his  hand. 
The  man  returned  thanks,  but,  evidently,  was  not  satis- 
fied with  what  he  had  received.  Then  he  drew  still 
another  paper  from  his  pocket.  "  Here  is  a  certificate, 
your  Illustrious  Highness  — 

"  I  have  given  you  what  I  could,  I  am  not  able  to  do 


LIVES  AND  WORKS  85 

more,"  said  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch,  with  an  expression  of 
martyrdom. 

And  we  set  off  through  the  park.  But  the  ugly  little 
peasant  and  his  scrofulous  boy  intercepted  our  path. 
Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  halted. 

"What  do  you  want? " 

The  peasant  thrust  forward  the  boy.  The  boy  hesi- 
tated, became  agitated,  and,  drawling  out  his  words, 
appealed  to  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch :  — 

"  Gi-i-i-ve  the  co-o-o-olt —  " 

I  felt  uncomfortable,  and  knew  not  in  which  direction 
to  look. 

Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"What  colt?     What  nonsense?     I  have  no  colt." 

"  Yes,  you  have,"  declared  the  ill-favored  little  peasant, 
moving  briskly  forward. 

"  Well,  I  know  nothing  about  it.  Go,  and  God  be 
with  you !  "  said  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch,  and,  taking  several 
strides,  he  leaped  over  a  ditch. 

We  walked  at  a  brisk  gait  in  the  fields,  first  through  the 
rye,  and  then  along  the  water-meadows,  which  gleamed 
cheerfully  in  the  sunshine  with  their  succulent  verdure. 

Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  began  to  question  me  about  my 
life  in  the  country.  The  conversation  turned  on  the 
rearing  of  children.  L.  N.  Tolstoy  is  opposed  to  the 
existing  educational  institutions,  and  thinks  that  they 
take  away  from  the  children  much  more  than  they  give 
them.  He  quoted,  jestingly,  the  remark  of  one  of  his 
friends,  who  is  educating  his  son  at  home,  and  always 
says  that,  if  his  son  does  turn  out  a  fool,  at  all  events, 
he  will  not  be  a  choke-full  fool  such  as  comes  out  of  the 
Gymnasium. 

But  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  himself  and  his  life  interested 
me  more  than  anything  else.  At  what  was  he  work- 
ing ?  How  does  he  live  ?  What  are  his  relations  to  the 
people,  and,  especially,  to  those  Makaroffs  and  Moro- 
zoffs  who  once  constituted  the  famous  literary  firm,  — 
"  Makaroff,  Morozoff,  Tolstoy  ? "  And  I  led  the  con- 
versation to  that  subject. 

Lyeff  Nikolaevitch,  gliding  swiftly  over  the  ground, 


86        HOW    COUNT    L.  N.  TOLSTOY 

soft  as  a  carpet,  said  that  he  felt  very  well,  except  that 
lately  he  had  fallen  ill  with  his  usual  complaint  —  in 
the  liver.  He  was  occupied  at  the  time  with  a  very  com- 
plicated piece  of  work,  which  entirely  engrossed  him. 
He  was  interested  in  those  three  steps  through  which 
the  spirit  of  man  must  infallibly  move  onward  to  per- 
fection. And  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  began  with  animation 
to  set  forth  the  fundamental  theses  of  his  work :  — 

The  first  step  is  warfare  with  a  false  view  of  the 
world.  This  must  be  the  beginning. 

The  second  step  is  warfare  with  delusion,  that  is  to  say, 
with  phenomena  which  conduce  to  abnormal  life ;  and  in 
conclusion, 

The  third  step  is  warfare  against  sin. 

From  warfare  with  abnormal  phenomena,  the  con- 
versation passed  naturally  to  the  melancholy  side  of  the 
common  people's  life,  and  I  questioned  Lyeff  Nikolae- 
vitch about  the  Yasnaya  Polyana  peasants,  as  to  what 
sort  of  people  they  were. 

"  They  are  peasants  like  any  other  peasants,"  said  he, 
"  not  much  better,  not  much  worse,  than  the  rest.  With 
some  of  them  I  long  ago  established  kindly,  affection- 
ate relations,  and  they  are  maintained  to  this  day,  others 
—  and  they  are  in  the  majority  —  look  upon  me  as  a  sort 
of  horn  of  plenty,  and  that  is  all.  And  can  one  expect 
from  them  any  other  relations  ?  Their  life  and  views 
have  been  formed  through  a  course  of  ages  under  the 
influence  of  a  multitude  of  irresistible  conditions.  And 
can  one  change  all  that  ? " 

We  came  out  upon  the  road,  and  met  an  old  woman 
who  was  on  her  way  to  Yasnaya  Polyana.  On  catching 
sight  of  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  she  came  to  a  standstill. 
He  entered  into  conversation  with  her  about  her  mode 
of  life,  gave  her  alms,  and  we  again  turned  out  of  the 
road  into  the  fields.  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  interrupted  the 
conversation  only  for  a  moment,  and,  glancing  round,  he 
admired  the  golden  attire  of  the  autumn. 

Suddenly,  through  the  transparent  air,  from  the  direc- 
tion of  the  house,  resounded  the  prolonged  and  persistent 
sound  of  a  bell. 


LIVES  AND   WORKS  87 

"They  are  summoning  us  to  dinner,"  said  Lyeff 
Nikolaevitch,  and  quickened  his  pace,  without,  however, 
breaking  off  the  conversation. 

We  went  straight  ahead,  leaping  across  gullies  and 
puddles,  which  had  formed  after  the  rain.  It  was  the 
first  time  I  had  made  such  a  forced  march  with  Lyeff 
Nikolaevitch,  and  I  felt  involuntary  surprise  at  the  elastic 
lightness  with  which  he  surmounted  all  obstacles.  He 
seemed  not  to  walk,  but  to  glide  over  the  ground,  evi- 
dently without  making  any  particular  effort.  I  mentally 
compared  him  with  writers  of  my  acquaintance,  who 
were  much  younger  than  he,  and  they  appeared  to  me 
like  ruins  in  comparison  with  him,  so  far  as  their  physical 
and  mental  endurance  were  concerned :  how  much  fire 
and  force  there  is  in  him  yet ! 

And  it  is  not  astonishing,  for  after  C.  Lombroso  had 
been  at  Yasnaya  Polyana,  he  said  that  L.  Tolstoy  was 
fit  to  be  his  son,  in  the  matter  of  freshness,  and  then 
L.  N.  Tolstoy  called  Lombroso,  in  jest,  "  an  amiable  old 
man,"  although  the  latter  is  much  younger  than  Lyeff 
Nikolaevitch.  One  episode  of  C.  Lombroso's  sojourn  at 
Yasnaya  Polyana  is  not  devoid  of  interest.  They  went 
to  take  a  bath.  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  asked  C.  Lombroso 
whether  he  knew  how  to  swim.  The  latter  declared  that 
he  did,  watched  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch,  and  faithfully  imi- 
tated everything  that  the  latter  did.  L.  N.  Tolstoy 
crawled  out  on  the  outer  board,  sprang  into  the  water, 
and  swam  off.  C.  Lombroso  followed  him. 

"  But  I  turned  round,"  says  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch,  "  and 
saw  that  my  old  man  was  floundering  about  in  the 
water,  but,  somehow,  was  making  no  progress." 

L.  N.  helped  him  to  get  out.  Lombroso  was  panting, 
but  in  ecstasies  over  his  bath.  In  order  to  warm  him- 
self up  after  his  bath,  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  raised  himself 
several  times  by  his  muscles.  Lombroso,  also,  clung  to 
the  cross-beam,  but  could  not  raise  himself.  His  visit 
gave  L.  N.  Tolstoy  great  pleasure. 

"  I  had  imagined  him  to  be  different  —  a  scientific 
fanatic,"  said  L.  N.  afterward.  "  He  is  nothing  of  the 
sort." 


88       HOW   COUNT   L.  N.  TOLSTOY 


CHAPTER  XXI 

WHEN  we  reached  the  house,  the  large  bell,  suspended 
from  a  dead  limb  of  the  poor  people 's  tree,  had  rung  in- 
sistently for  the  second  time.  It  was  three  o'clock.1 
We  arrived  exactly  in  time.  Immediately  after  us  ap- 
peared the  servant  with  the  soup-tureen  in  his  hands. 

The  long  table  quickly  filled  up  with  Lyeff  Nikolae- 
vitch's  numerous  family,  and  Countess  Sophia  Andreevna 
greeted  our  prompt  arrival  with  a  glance  of  approbation, 

She  occupied  the  so-called  housewife's  place ;  that  is, 
at  the  end  of  the  table,  so  that  she  could  see  every- 
thing and  everybody.  Next  her,  on  her  right,  sat  Lyeff 
Nikolaevitch,  and  beside  him  his  eldest  daughter,  Tatyana 
Lvovna.  This  order  is  preserved  at  dinner  always  and 
everywhere. 

Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  and  his  two  oldest  daughters  eat 
no  meat,  and  separate  dishes  are  served  for  them.  Lyeff 
Nikolaevitch  often  plays  the  part  of  host  in  the  little 
vegetarian  nook.  He  ladles  out  the  thin  oatmeal  gruel 
into  plates,  and  cordially  helps  vegetarian  guests  during 
the  dinner,  now  to  one  dish,  now  to  another. 

He  is  a  vegetarian  from  conviction,  and  for  many  years 
has  eaten  neither  meat  nor  fish,  but  attributes  great  im- 
portance to  vegetable  diet,  both  from  a  physiological  and 
from  an  esthetic  point  of  view.  And,  of  course,  he 
might  serve  as  an  eloquent  example  of  the  superiority  of 
vegetable  diet,  if  it  were  only  possible  to  prove  that  the 
fine  strength  which  he  enjoys  depends  principally  on  his 
vegetable  diet.  In  any  case  this  is  a  serious  question. 
And  a  man  who  lives  exclusively  on  a  vegetable  diet, 
and,  at  the  same  time,  is  able,  at  the  age  of  seventy,  to 
fulfil,  in  thorough  fashion,  the  field  labor  of  the  peas- 

1  An  error  somewhere,  evidently,  about  the  hour  of  the  walk  and  of  din- 
ner. The  dinner  hour  at  Yasnaya  Polyana  is  nearer  five  o'clock.  —  TR. 


LIVES  AND  WORKS  89, 

ants,  to  ride  scores  of  versts  on  his  bicycle,  to  play  for 
hours  at  lawn-tennis,  or  to  run  races  with  the  little  boys, 
—  such  a  man  has  a  good  deal  of  right  to  talk  about  the 
superiority  of  a  vegetable  diet. 

Countess  Sophia  Andreevna,  on  the  contrary,  opposes 
a  vegetable  diet,  and  only  tolerates  it  in  the  house  as,  in 
a  way,  her  cross.  But  justice  must  be  accorded  to  her 
impartiality :  the  meat  viands  and  the  vegetarian  viands 
at  Yasnaya  Polyana  are  very  savory,  nutritious,  and 
varied. 

Lyeff  Nikolaevitch,  in  many  respects,  reminds  one  of 
a  Russian  peasant,  but  he  does  not  eat  like  a  Russian 
peasant,  —  with  their  deliberation  and  pauses,  —  but 
quickly  and  hastily,  as  though  in  a  hurry  to  get  rid,  as 
soon  as  possible,  of  a  disagreeable  duty. 

After  the  first  course,  with  which  he  had  dulled  the 
edge  of  his  hunger,  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  began  to  address 
remarks  first  to  one,  then  to  another,  of  those  present, 
imparting  to  the  most  trivial  conversation  that  peculiar, 
rich  interest  which  he  understands  how  to  infuse  into 
everything.  His  humorous  comments  often  evoked  peals 
of  laughter,  which  were  especially  loud  at  the  other  end 
of  the  table,  where  the  youngest  of  the  young  people 
are  always  grouped. 

Occasionally,  when  relating  something,  Lyeff  Niko- 
laevitch, on  hearing  laughter  among  the  young  people, 
interrupted  his  narration,  and  turned  his  attention  in 
that  direction.  But,  without  fail,  in  the  course  of  the 
dinner,  he  scrutinized  all  with  his  keen  glance,  and 
exchanged  at  least  a  few  words  with  every  individual. 

At  the  Tolstoys'  table  we  drank  home-brewed  grain, 
kvas,  cold  milk,  and  soda-water. 

But  immediately  after  dinner  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  sug- 
gested a  stroll  in  the  forest,  and  began  to  urge  the 
ladies  to  haste.  He  is  impatient  in  such  circumstances, 
and  does  not  like  long  preparations.  But  some  one 
proposed  a  game  of  lawn-tennis  while  all  were  assem- 
bling. Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  willingly  assented. 

And,  a  moment  later,  male  and  female  figures  were 
flitting  about  over  the  hard-rolled  square  space  in  front 


^0       HOW   COUNT   L.  N.  TOLSTOY 

of  the  house,  flourishing  rackets,  and  shouting,  with  a 
tinge  of  anger,  "  Play !  "  "  Out !  "  and  so  forth. 

Lawn-tennis  is,  as  we  all  know,  one  of  the  most  fas- 
cinating of  games,  requiring  keenness  of  sight,  skill, 
and  the  exercise  of  every  muscle.  And  it  is  easily  com- 
prehensible that  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  is  passionately  fond 
of  this  game ;  it  affords  considerable  work  for  his  mus- 
cles. He  plays  ardently  and  with  fire,  but  without  losing 
his  temper.  This  constant  work  upon  himself  is  to  be 
felt  even  in  a  game  of  lawn-tennis. 

Once  he  even  yielded  his  racket  to  another  player,  at 
the  most  interesting  moment  of  the  game.  However, 
this  was  an  exceptional  case. 


LIVES  AND   WORKS  91 


CHAPTER  XXII 

As  he  was  raising  himself  by  his  muscles  one  day, 
during  the  morning  bath,  he  broke  down,  somehow,  and 
fell  between  the  boards  of  the  bath-house,  causing  him- 
self considerable  injuries  to  the  breast  and  back.  It  all 
took  place  so  quickly  that  neither  the  doctor,  who  was 
present,  nor  I  succeeded  in  recovering  from  our  fright 
and  going  to  the  assistance  of  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch.  He 
crawled  out,  unaided,  from  the  crevice,  and  looked 
around  in  amazement,  unable  to  understand  how  it  had 
all  happened.  The  right  side  of  his  breast  and  back 
were  covered  with  dark  red  blotches.  The  doctor,  shak- 
ing his  head  reproachfully,  began  to  massage  the  in- 
jured parts,  and  to  inquire  concerning  the  degree  of 
pain. 

L.  N.  Tolstoy  stood  patiently,  his  body  shivering  with 
the  cold  water,  and  kept  repeating,  with  a  smile :  — 

"  It  is  nothing,  really  —  it  hurts  only  a  little." 

"  And  here  ?  " 

"Well,  here  it  does  seem  to  be  painful.  And  how 
could  it  have  happened  ? "  he  asked  in  surprise,  and  as 
though  excusing  himself  to  the  doctor  and  to  me  for  the 
unpleasant  scene. 

But,  in  the  opinion  of  the  doctor,  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch 
ought  to  have  experienced  burning  pains.  He  felt 
chilled  in  the  air,  and  began  to  dress  himself,  advising 
us  to  go  on  ahead,  because  he  intended  to  walk  fast  in 
order  to  get  warm.  Of  course,  we  did  not  follow  his 
advice. 

When  he  had  dressed  himself,  and  thrown  his  towel 
round  his  neck,  he  really  did  set  off  at  rapid  pace  up 
the  hill,  without  heeding  the  doctor's  warning  that  at 
such  a  time  all  quick  movements  should  be  avoided. 
We  could  hardly  keep  up  with  him.  It  was  particu- 


92       HOW   COUNT   L.  N.  TOLSTOY 

larly  difficult  for  the  doctor,  who  was  rather  fat  and 
suffered  from  asthma.  On  observing  this,  Lyeff  Niko- 
laevitch  slackened  his  pace,  and  began  to  talk  about  a 
letter  which  he  had  received,  the  day  before,  from  a 
Polish  Count,  who  was  trying  to  entice  him  with  Polish 
patriotism.  After  quoting  the  contents  of  the  letter, 
Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  said  :  — 

"  How  often  the  checkers  get  mixed  up  in  political 
matters !  Great  caution  is  required,  or  one  will  find 
himself  in  a  false  position.  It  often  happens  that  peo- 
ple who  have  no  inward  bond  between  them  march 
hand  in  hand  under  one  flag  —  under  the  flag  of  a  com- 
mon hatred.  What  a  sorry  bond  is  that !  And  what 
lack  of  understanding  that  love  alone  can  cement  men, 
and  give  them  true  strength." 

And  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  went  on  talking  about  love, 
as  the  indispensable  element  in  every  alliance.  When 
we  entered  the  dining-room  he  quickly  ate  his  morning 
oatmeal,  hastily  looked  over  the  English  newspaper  — 
the  Daily  Chronicle  —  poured  himself  out  half  a  cup  of 
coffee  with  almond  milk,  on  his  way,  and  excusing  him- 
self, hastily  went  off  to  his  own  rooms. 

"  He  certainly  must  be  suffering  torments  now,"  said 
the  doctor,  nodding  approvingly  in  the  direction  of  Lyeff 
Nikolaevitch. 

That  day,  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  emerged  only  to  dinner, 
and  all  the  time  he  was  so  animated  and  merry  that  no 
one  would  have  said  that  his  back  and  a  part  of  his 
breast  were  one  mass  of  bruises.  After  dinner,  the  doc- 
tor began  to  insist  that  he  should  again  be  allowed  to 
massage  the  injured  places. 

"  Well,  if  you  like!"  said  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch,  evidently 
not  wishing  to  pain  the  doctor  by  a  refusal,  and  he  led 
him  off  to  his  study. 

When  the  doctor  laid  bare  the  bruised  parts,  he  shook 
his  head.  A  part  of  the  breast  and  back  had  assumed 
a  purplish  brown  hue,  with  an  iridescent  play  of  colors. 
The  doctor  greased  his  hand  with  vaseline,  and  began 
to  pass  it  delicately  over  the  body,  as  though  pressing 
out  the  pain  from  the  wounded  portions  of  the  skin. 


LIVES  AND  WORKS  93 

Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  lay  motionless,  never  ceasing  to  talk, 
and  highly  approving  the  doctor's  work. 

"  How  well  you  do  that !  " 

But  the  doctor  wore  a  stern  aspect,  and  kept  repeat- 
ing, persistently,  in  rhythm  with  the  movement  of  his 
hand : — 

"  The  principal  thing  now  is  to  avoid  violent  mo-o-ove- 
ment ;  the  principal  thing  is  to  give  the  irritated  ti-i-is- 
sues  rest." 

Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  made  no  reply. 

But  when,  half  an  hour  later,  the  doctor  arrived  at 
the  lawn-tennis  ground,  he  saw,  among  the  players, 
Lyeff  Nikolaevitch,  who  was  flourishing  his  racket  with 
animation.  The  doctor  sat  down  heavily  on  a  bench, 
and  waved  his  hand  in  despair.  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch 
caught  his  glance  of  displeasure,  and  hastily  handed 
over  his  racket. 

"  I  won't  do  it ;  I  won't  do  it  any  more,"  he  said,  in 
a  guilty  tone,  and  went  up  to  the  doctor. 


94       HOW   COUNT    L.  N.  TOLSTOY 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

COUNTESS  SOPHIA  ANDREEVNA  had  finished  all  her 
domestic  arrangements,  and  made  her  appearance,  with 
the  other  ladies,  near  the  lawn-tennis  ground. 

Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  began  to  urge  the  players  to 
haste,  and,  a  few  minutes  later,  a  company  of  twelve 
persons  set  out  straight  across  the  park.  Lyeff  Niko- 
laevitch conducted  the  expedition.  We  went  up  hill 
and  down,  made  our  way  through  the  thicket,  crossed 
the  water  on  a  transverse  plank.  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch 
was  merry,  and  animated,  and  talkative ;  he  helped  the 
ladies  at  difficult  points,  and  even  invented  for  one  lady 
something  in  the  nature  of  an  elevator:  he  pressed 
the  head  of  his  staff  against  the  back  of  her  belt,  and 
thereby  considerably  lightened  the  ascent  for  her. 

When,  at  last,  we  emerged  into  an  open  spot,  before 
us  lay  outspread  a  rather  picturesque  view,  with  yellow- 
ing groups  of  trees,  effectively  lighted  up  by  the  rays 
of  the  setting  sun.  Here  and  there,  stately,  dark  green 
fir  trees  stood  out,  sharply  outlined  against  the  golden 
background  of  the  autumn  foliage.  We  turned  aside 
to  the  nursery  of  forest  trees,  inspected  them,  and  took 
a  path  for  the  macadamized  highway.  Lyeff  Niko- 
laevitch took  an  interest  in  everything,  entered  into 
conversation  with  every  one,  and  exchanged  friendly 
greetings  with  every  one  whom  we  met,  without  wait- 
ing for  them  to  bow  to  him.  In  all,  we  traversed  about 
seven  versts.  Toward  the  end  of  the  walk,  all  felt 
somewhat  weary  and  thirsty. 

The  samovar  was  already  boiling  in  the  dining-room, 
and  the  cups  gleamed  cheerfully.  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch 
took  a  new  number  of  the  Revue  de  Paris,  which  had 
just  arrived,  and  went  to  his  study.  It  is  a  genuine 


COUNT  TOLSTOY  AT  REST 
FROM  A  PAINTING  BY  REPIN 


LIVES  AND   WORKS 


95 


luxury  for  him  to  half  recline,  after  a  good  walk,  with 
a  new  book  in  his  hands. 

Evening  began  to  draw  on.  Candles  were  brought 
to  the  tea-table.  On  the  other,  the  round  table,  which 
stood  in  the  corner,  a  lamp  with  a  shade  was  placed. 
Sophia  Andreevna  laid  out  to  dry  the  photographs 
which  she  had  taken  during  the  day,  and  then  took  up 
her  sewing,  and  seated  herself  at  the  round  table,  bend- 
ing low  over  her  work.  She  always  has  some  work  on 
hand,  and  is  constantly  making  or  making  over  some- 
thing for  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch,  or  for  her  youngest  daugh- 
ter, or  for  some  of  the  house-servants.  The  elder 
daughters  departed  to  their  own  rooms.  The  youngest, 
eleven-year-old  Sasha,  sat  by  the  table,  and  played  chess 
with  a  Gymnasium  lad  who  had  arrived.  Two  little 
boys  in  every-day  blouses  played  battledore  and  shuttle- 
cock, urging  each  other  on  with  expressions  of  the  most 
insulting  description  for  the  pride  of  the  player,  of  this 
sort :  "  You,  sir,  ought  to  be  playing  with  dolls  still, 
instead  of  at  battledore  and  shuttlecock."  "You,  senor, 
ought  to  learn  first,  how  to  hold  your  battledore,  and 
then  you  might  make  up  your  mind  to  play  with  people 
who  —  "  and  so  forth. 

The  large  hall,  with  its  dark  squares  of  ancient 
portraits,  was  submerged  in  semi-obscurity.  Several 
objects  melted  into  their  outlines.  In  the  corners  the 
plaster  busts  of  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  shone  white,  —  one 
the  work  of  the  painter  Gay,  the  other  by  I.  Rye1  pin. 
Near  the  wall  was  the  long,  dark  silhouette  of  the 
grand  piano,  with  the  uncertain  outlines  of  the  music 
piled  upon  it,  and  of  the  balalaika 1  and  the  mandolin. 
On  the  tables  everywhere  were  books,  journals,  illustra- 
tions. 

Suddenly  brisk,  shuffling  steps  became  audible,  and, 
creaking  up  the  stairs,  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  hastily  en- 
tered the  room  with  the  French  magazine  in  his  hand. 
His  face  was  excited. 

"  What  horrors  are  being  perpetrated  in  Turkey ! 
Heavens,  and  when  will  all  this  end?  Tanya,  Masha, 

1  A  three -stringed  musical  instrument. — TR. 


96       HOW   COUNT   L.  N.  TOLSTOY 

come  here.  Hearken  to  what  is  going  on  in  Armenia," 
said  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch,  so  loudly  that  he  could  be  heard 
two  rooms  off. 

The  games  ceased.  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch 's  two  eldest 
daughters  made  their  appearance  in  the  hall.  All  seated 
themselves  around  the  table  with  the  lamp,  and  Lyeff 
Nikolaevitch  began  to  read  about  the  Sassoon  horrors, 
interrupting  his  reading  with  various  remarks,  in  order 
to  control  the  emotion  which  overpowered  him.  Lyeff 
Nikolaevitch  reads  superbly.  But  dramatic  scenes  are 
beyond  his  powers.  As  he  possesses  remarkably  acute 
artistic  feeling,  he  seems  to  divine  the  approaching 
horror  of  the  drama  a  whole  verst  off,  and  his  voice,  in 
spite  of  himself,  becomes  oppressed. 

The  description  of  the  Sassoon  brutalities  produced  a 
profound  impression  on  all.  As  he  read  several  scenes, 
Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  threw  himself  back  from  the  book, 
and  said :  — 

"  How  terrible  this  is ! " 

For  some  time  the  conversation  hovered  about  the 
massacre  at  Sassoon.  The  servant  brought  the  mail, 
which,  however,  produces  no  sensation  here,  because  it 
is  received  from  three  stations,  and  always  in  abundance. 
A  whole  bundle  of  letters,  notifications,  and  telegrams 
were  addressed  to  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch.  He  opens  them, 
lays  some  on  one  side,  leaves  others,  and  reads  some 
aloud,  when,  if  the  letter  is  written  in  any  foreign  lan- 
guage, in  the  presence  of  guests  it  is  immediately  read 
in  Russian,  with  only  a  few  pauses. 

A  German  journalist  writes  to  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  a 
fervent  letter  about  one  of  his  articles.  K.,  an  English- 
man, imparts  from  London  a  whole  mass  of  political 
and  literary  news.  The  conversation  turns  upon  Eng- 
lish literature. 

At  ten  o'clock  the  servants  begin  to  set  the  table 
for  supper.  Although  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  has  been 
speaking  with  animation,  and  has  been  courteous  to  all, 
something  seems  to  have  congealed  in  his  face,  and  not 
a  single  note  of  cheerful  tone  now  breaks  forth  from  his 
voice. 


LIVES  AND   WORKS  97 

He  played  a  game  of  chess,  but  this  did  not  distract 
his  mind.  During  supper,  loud  voices  became  audible 
down-stairs,  and  new  visitors  made  their  appearance, 
good  friends  of  the  Tolstoys  who  had  come  from  Mos- 
cow. They  brought  with  them  a  whole  budget  of  the 
most  vitally  interesting  news.  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  was 
very  glad  to  see  his  guests,  and  chatted  with  them  in  a 
friendly  manner,  but  his  face  still  wore  an  expression  of 
dissimulation  and  sadness,  as  it  were.  The  description 
of  human  suffering  in  Armenia  had  evidently  left  a 
painful  sediment  in  his  soul. 

The  next  morning,  various  petitioners,  male  and 
female,  began  to  make  their  appearance.  From  Tula 
came  some  officer  or  other,  with  a  pale,  nervous  face, 
and  after  him,  a  lady  in  mourning  garments.  Lyeff 
Nikolaevitch  received  them,  but  the  interviews  did  not 
last  long,  not  more  than  a  few  minutes.  Again,  near 
the  poor  people 's  tree,  peasants,  passers-by,  old  men,  and 
old  women,  with  various  petitions,  were  awaiting  Lyeff 
Nikolaevitch.  Again  he  did  what  he  could  for  each 
one.  Again  the  post  brought  a  big  pile  of  letters,  news- 
papers, pamphlets,  notifications,  telegrams,  with  different 
requests,  questions,  and  expectations. 

After  dinner,  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  rode  into  Tula  on 
his  bicycle,  to  see  a  friend. 

Twilight  began  to  descend.  Several  of  us  visitors 
were  chatting  together  in  the  lower  drawing-room  which 
adjoins  the  library.  Hasty  steps  became  audible,  and 
Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  entered.  He  bent  forward,  looked 
for  an  empty  seat,  and  sat  down  with  us.  There  was  a 
peculiar  warmth  in  his  voice.  This  was  not  the  famous 
Lyeff  Tolstoy,  the  great  writer  and  passionate  preacher, 
but  rather  a  gentle,  modest  Publican,  conscious  of  his 
imperfections,  and  beholding  before  him,  as  yet,  only 
the  first  steps  of  that  lofty  staircase  which  must  be 
mounted. 

In  answer  to  his  question,  what  were  we  talking  about, 
one  of  us  said  that  we  had  been  discussing  a  family  well 
known  to  all  of  us,  in  which  discord  was  smoldering. 
Two  of  those  present  blamed  the  wife,  and  exculpated 


98       HOW   COUNT    L.  N.  TOLSTOY 

the  husband.  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  listened  attentively, 
and  said :  — 

"  But  can  we  make  all  our  demands  on  a  woman,  and 
judge  her  harshly,  when  we  have  ourselves  trained  her 
to  all  sorts  of  falsehood  ?  Do  we  not  prize  in  her,  above 
all  else,  precisely  that  which  relates  to  her  sex,  and  do 
we  not  take  her  to  wife  because  of  that  ?  And,  all  of  a 
sudden,  we  demand  that  she  shall  be  our  friend.  That 
is  false,  and  a  lie.  I  will  seek  a  friend  for  myself  among 
men.  And  no  woman  can  take  the  place  of  my  friend. 
Then  why  do  we  lie  to  our  wives,  and  assure  them  that 
we  regard  them  as  our  true  friends  ?  Surely,  that  is 
untrue." 

"  But  what  are  we  to  do  ?  How  is  peace  to  be  estab- 
lished in  a  family  ?  "  asked  one  of  us. 

"The  husband  must  take  upon  himself  the  whole 
burden  of  the  false  situation  which  he  has  created,  and 
be  indulgent  to  his  wife,"  said  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch,  with 
ardent  conviction.  "  Never,  under  any  circumstances, 
for  any  consideration  whatever,  should  he  deprive  his 
wife  of  his  support,  because  marriage  is  an  elevation 
for  the  majority  of  such  sinful  men  as  we.  When  we 
choose  for  our  wife  a  certain  woman,  we  thereby,  as  it 
were,  announce  to  all  the  other  women  in  the  world 
they  are  our  sisters.  Therein  lies  the  profound  mean- 
ing of  marriage.  But  if  any  one  can  remain  virgin, 
without  distorting  his  nature,  that  must  be  a  lofty 
happiness ! " 

And  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  told  us  that  he  knew  one 
married  pair,  who  had  lived  together  many  years,  ob- 
serving between  them  the  relations  of  brother  and  sister. 
The  daily  equality  of  their  relations  always  charmed 
Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  to  such  a  degree,  that  one  day  he 
wrote  them  a  friendly  letter,  in  which  he  congratulated 
the  wife  with  especial  warmth  upon  the  purity  of  these 
relations.  To  this  letter  he  received  an  unexpected 
reply,  which,  nevertheless,  touched  him  profoundly. 
She  wrote  him  that,  in  spite  of  all  her  delight  over  his 
letter,  she  must,  nevertheless,  decline  all  his  praises, 
because  the  most  cherished  desire  of  her  heart  was  to 


LIVES  AND  WORKS  9? 

be,  not  the  friend,  but  the  wife  of  her  husband,  and  to 
have  children  by  him,  but  that  her  husband  wished 
to  maintain  chaste  relations  with  her,  therefore  be  it 
according  to  his  will. 

At  these  words,  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch's  voice  broke,  and 
he  wept. 

"  Which  of  us  sinners,"  said  he,  conquering  his  emo- 
tion, "would  dare  to  reproach  them  if,  after  all,  they 
should  come  together  as  husband  and  wife  ?  But  that 
frank  confession  from  the  mouth  of  a  modest  woman, 
and  her  tranquil  obedience  to  her  husband's  will  —  how 
beautiful  it  all  is  !  " 

And  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  continued  for  a  long  time 
still  to  discuss  the  moral  side  of  marriage. 

His  ardent  faith  in  the  triumph  of  the  highest  princi- 
ples in  man,  his  profound  belief  in  the  vivifying  power 
of  moral  ideals,  an  inspiration  wherein  is  concealed  also 
the  deepest  significance  of  our  life,  and  the  most  healing 
remedy  for  all  ills,  in  short,  that  peculiar,  entrancing 
Tolstoy  tone,  which,  like  a  tightly  stretched  chord,  re- 
sounds in  some  of  his  writings,  —  all  this  here,  in  the 
twilight,  in  the  intimate,  low-voiced  conversation,  when  , 
every  word  acquires  its  special  language,  had  a  particu- 
larly attractive  power. 

When  we  were  called  to  tea,  and  went  up-stairs,  as  we 
mounted  the  stairs  we  experienced  a  sensation  as  though 
our  wings  had  begun  to  grow.  And  our  earthly  burdens 
did  not  seem  to  us  very  heavy. 

And  that  whole  memorable  evening  afterward  as- 
sumed a  sort  of  peculiarly  elegiac  character.  Several 
of  us  took  our  departure  at  twelve  o'clock  at  night, 
and  we  felt  sad  at  leaving  that  roof,  beneath  which  we 
had  lived  through  so  many  never-to-be-forgotten  im- 
pressions. 

After  tea  a  general  conversation  arose  about  music, 
poetry,  and  verses.  One  of  Tolstoy's  feminine  relatives 
read,  in  a  peculiar,  drawling  elocution,  several  new- 
fashioned  poems  in  the  symbolical  style,  "with  lilac 
sounds,"  and  "  gnawing  perfumes."  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch 
stood  by  the  piano,  with  his  hand  thrust  into  the  belt  of 


ioo  COUNT   L.  N.  TOLSTOY 

his  blouse,  and  listened,  with  a  smile,  to  the  reading. 
When  it  was  over,  he  laughed,  and  said  :  — 

"  Well,  if  it  is  a  question  of  taking  into  your  mouth 
all  the  sonorous  words,  and  then  letting  them  out  again, 
you  had  better  read  Fet.  In  him  there  is  both  poetry 
and  taste." 

And,  raising  his  head  a  little,  as  though  trying  to 
recall  something  half-forgotten,  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  re- 
cited, with  much  expression,  one  of  Fet's  poems,  in 
which  the  poet  compares  the  starry  sky  to  an  overturned 
urn. 

We  began  to  talk  about  Fet. 

Countess  Sophia  Andreevna  tried  to  recall  one  of  his 
poems  dedicated  to  her,  and  set  to  music,  but  was  unable 
to  do  so. 

Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  seated  himself  at  the  piano,  and 
with  a  free,  light  touch,  played  that  romance.  Tatyana 
Lvovna,  the  eldest  daughter  of  the  Tolstoys,  approached 
the  piano  in  a  flowered  peasant  woman's  jacket,  and 
asked  her  father  if  he  would  not  accompany  her.  He 
gladly  consented.  She  took  up  her  mandolin,  leaned 
against  the  piano,  and  they  began  to  play  harmoniously 
and  melodiously,  presenting  an  enviable  group  for  an 
artist. 

After  the  music,  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch  approached  his 
guests,  and  chatted  in  a  friendly  manner  with  each  one 
of  those  who  were  about  to  depart.  At  eleven  o'clock, 
the  katki — that  is,  a  long  jaunting-car  which  will  hold 
ten  persons  —  drove  up  to  the  door. 

The  night  was  clear  and  cool.  The  whole  Tolstoy 
family  came  out  on  the  porch  to  wish  the  parting  guests 
God-speed. 

When  the  katki  drove  away  from  the  house,  all,  as 
though  at  a  given  signal,  turned  round,  and  gazed  long 
through  the  dense  grove  at  the  lighted  windows  of  the 
long  house  in  which  had  flowed  past  the  greater  part  of 
the  extremely  active  life  of  one  of  the  most  remarkable 
men  in  the  history  of  mankind. 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


A     000  771  868     7 


